


War Child

by orphan_account



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragonball, Dragonball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark thriller, F/M, Falling In Love, Frieza - Freeform, From hate to love, Goku/Bulma, Kidnapping, Psychological Manipulation, Romance, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Some Goku/Bulma but you never know, Suspense, Torture, Vegebul, bulma/vegeta - Freeform, love triangle with dark twist, vegeta/bulma - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: [AU] Taken from her home planet as a teenager, Bulma has lived the life of a working slave struggling to survive, that is, until the warlord Frieza buys her. Now, she lives in The Void- an institution steeped in luxury and temptation. Her only assignment: use her genius to physically and psychologically break the Saiyan Prince.Dark fantasy and crippling reality clash in Bulma's new life, but will she obtain her freedom at the cost of her conscious? And what should she do about her charming new friend Goku, who seems to have a few secrets of his own?





	1. (Every Day Is Exactly The Same)

  
_I believe I can see the future,_  
_‘cause I repeat the same routine._  
_I think I used to have a purpose,_  
_but then again,_  
_that might have been a dream._

* * *

 

  
_**Prisoner 9001** _

**Birth Name: Bulma Briefs**

**Species: Human**

**Home Planet: Earth**

**Age: Twenty-two Earth cycles**

**Current assignment: Mechanical engineering and weapons manufacturing. Sub-contracted out for PTO use.**

**Summary of acquisition: Taken in conquest after planet was raided; prisoner of war sold to highest bidder after testing positive for high intellectual capacity.**

**Status: Non-violent, cooperative, non-lethal. Healthy with no prior medical problems. Cleared for trade.**

* * *

 

 

Bulma wasn't woken up so much as she was forced alive, being dragged out of her warm bed and thrown onto the ground violently. She kicked and screamed instinctively, grasping at the phantom hands assaulting her body while her mind struggled with lucidity.

Just a few feet away, her cellmate watched on with a curious expression; not one of shock, just a minor annoyance that was cultivated by years of harsh servitude. There would be no help offered from the woman- one did not go against their masters’ will without repercussion.

Bulma screamed as her hair was pulled, forcing her attention to the men handling her, but before she could fully comprehend her situation, dark fabric was forced over her head and her limbs were being bound; her wrists behind her back and her ankles pressed tightly together.

She gasped for air, finding the sack over her head a strong chemical smell, her own humid breath reflecting back at her. She blinked, widening her eyes impossibly, trying to find even a sliver of light to tell her what was happening, but nothing was clear in the resulting chaos. Just movement, fast and quick, down the hall. Bulma forced herself to quiet down, even as she was being carried away, slung over someone's back. She wanted to hear a telling sound or her assailants talk- anything to understand why.

Why her?

She had heard of this happening before; heard the rumors whispered amongst the other slaves while they completed the same mundane jobs over and over again. Stories of how their captors would occasionally take one of the prisoners violently away, only to never see the poor soul again.

Where did they go?

No one knew.

Why were they taken?

That too, was a mystery. Each prisoner had been behaving well, completing their duty just as instructed. Yet, they were stolen away in the dead of night.

Bulma had scoffed at the tales, much too preoccupied with her own fallacies of escaping this life and of her dreams of her home planet which was long destroyed and harvested by an alien race. When the women in her cell unit started chattering about ghost stories, she merely zoned out, remembering the way her father’s mustache tickled the rim of his coffee mug every time he took a drink in the morning, a newspaper in his hand. The way her mother was insistently positive about everything, even cleaning up after her father’s failed experiments.

As Bulma slaved away at her job in this life, she remembered the last thing she built with her slender fingers. The last device she built of her own free will and not because her life depended on it.

_”What are you working on, my dear?”_

_“It's a radar to find a great treasure! I'm going on an adventure!”_

She had completed the dragon radar, but she never completed her adventure.

By the time Bulma was ready, a fresh-faced teenager, it was too late, her planet had been taken over by beings from the sky, her family killed, and she had been sold into slavery.

It was a unique hell filled with expectation and submission, but as she was being carried away, she desperately missed her insignificant life of building machines on an assembly line and sleeping in a tiny cell. The smell of oil staining her hands and clothes. The rationed meals and the one bar of soap to call her own.

Was she being led to her death? Had it finally come for her after all these years?

Time slowed down, her breathing seemed to slow as well, and the smell inside the hood began to make eyes heavy with sleep. Bulma felt her head loll to the side, useless, before blackness consumed her.

When she awoke next, the sack was torn off her head, irreverently taking some strands of her azure hair with it, but Bulma was relieved nonetheless. That was, until she looked around, her eyes struggling to adjust to the new light.

Everything was blurry, her head ached, and she was certain that she was hallucinating after going so long without eating. She had no idea how much time had passed or where she was, but she was tired, filthy, and covered in her own urine.

It would've been degrading had she not already accepted the fact that she was probably going to die. Why care about your appearance when you were going to be killed?

She was in a small, stark white room, seated at a table while three strange-looking creatures stared back at her in assessment. Ever since earth had been attacked, Bulma had known of the existence of other races and species, but she was still startled every time she saw a new alien- most of the prisoners she worked with were at least humanoid.

These creatures though, they had faces like hers for the most part, but they were lizard-like with glowing white skin and long, thick tails. As her eyes adjusted to seeing once more, she took in the strong, three-toed feet and the haughty smirks on their faces.

“State your name,” a deep voice commanded from behind her.

Bulma craned her neck around to find a familiar-looking face- one of the men who was associated with the prison. She opened her mouth to obey out of instinct, but her throat was far too dry to produce any sound, much to her captor’s annoyance.

“State your name!” the man ordered again, his dark eyes focused intently on her. She knew what the price of disobedience was, she had seen too many of her kind hacked apart right in front of her.

“Bulma Briefs,” she choked out, voice raspy and unrecognizable. She hated the taste of subservience in her mouth; but time had stripped away some of the spunk of her younger years.

Her response seemed to placate the large man and he turned to the three lizards in front of the table. Bulma followed his line of sight until she was eye to eye with all three of the creatures whose slitted gazes were unsettling.

The one in front cocked his head and smiled at her, a sickening expression that made her apprehensive. “Are you certain she can fulfill our requirements?” the creature inquired, bringing his gaze to the man standing behind Bulma.

“Yes,” her captor responded. “She has passed every test and is possibly the most promising mind in our possession. She will surely please your master.”

At the statement, the lizard narrowed his eyes in contemplation while clasping his hands behind his back. “Lord Frieza requires only the best minds for this assignment,” he explained. “If we are going to pay your _exorbitant_ price, then she better be worth every credit.”

“I can assure you that she is, otherwise we would have killed her already.”

The truth was so evident in the man’s voice that Bulma began to shiver uncontrollably, her exhausted mind just now catching up to the gravity of her situation. From what she could gather, she was being sold to these creatures, but for what? To make more machines? Wasn't there other slaves who could do that?

She thought back over her life for the last seven years and she suddenly remembered all the strange occurrences amongst her mundane daily tasks. All the odd assignments, the medical studies, and the psychological testing. Bulma had thought it was normal to be so invested in getting the most out of your workers, but thinking back, none of the other prisoners had ever mentioned being pulled aside for such things. Had she been chosen for something important?

The lizard clucked his tongue repeatedly, knocking Bulma out of her chaotic thoughts. Her stomach growled in that moment, and the creature merely smiled, seemingly amused at the noise. Bulma just sat there, her face reddening as her heart began racing beyond what she thought possible.

After a few moments of nearly unbearable silence, the lizard turned on his heel with a swish of his large tail, the other creatures following. “We have a deal,” he called over his shoulder before letting out a small laugh. “Pack her up and let us return to our master.”

And with that, the creatures left Bulma alone with her old captor, still bound and sitting in a chair. There was movement behind her, and she looked up, horrified, to see the black sack slowly descending back over her head.

“No!” she protested, but it was of no use.

She was blinded once more, being carried away like an invalid to an unknown life. As they walked, Bulma could hear screaming, crying, and pleading in several languages, the sounds grating on her ears. After a few more steps, she was thrown unceremoniously into what she assumed was some sort of crate, forcing her body to curl in on itself.

She was terrified, but as she sat in the dark, the sounds of heavy machinery and space craft whirling around her, she was amused by the strangest of thoughts.

If she was leaving hell, did that mean she was bound for heaven?

* * *

 

Vegeta woke violently, a scream perched on his chapped lips, waiting to be released. He caught himself just before the sound echoed through the peaceful corridors of Frieza’s ship and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the matted knots of his usually silken locks.

His bare chest was heaving, glistening with sweat, but he felt cold all over, a creeping chill that settled in his bones and crawled under his skin.

The dream had been horrendous, twisting from his normal fantasies of power and victory into a grotesque nightmare where he was being bound forcefully before being brutally tortured. The prince had been so powerless; there had been no strength in the fibers of his muscles and the flexing of his strong hands. Just an overwhelming sense of fear that painted his vision black and left a sour taste in his mouth.

His dream had hazed over the identity of his assailant, but now that Vegeta was lucid and panting in the dark, small memories began to rain down upon him, stinging his consciousness with cold fear.

Soft hands. Beautiful blue eyes. Strands of soft hair falling in his face. A smile that set his heart racing before he was brought to the edge of death, pride breaking before he began to beg for mercy like a frightened cub.

Vegeta swallowed his scream, calmed his breathing, and closed his eyes, letting the terror wash over him, cleansing. He never wanted to feel such despair again, and the only way he knew how to purge fear was to submit yourself to it. Let it teach the depth of weakness so that one may become even stronger.

With a snarl, the prince threw off his bedsheets and padded across the expanse of his lush quarters, ignoring his state of undress. He wore nothing but his tight briefs as he stalked into the darkened hallway, his feet moving across the cool metal ground on their own accord.

At this hour, no soul would be gracing the corridors, but most crewmen didn't bother Vegeta regardless; he was in Frieza’s favor and this afforded him most luxuries in an age where the warlord spared few.

Once he reached his destination, he keyed in the code and the large door opened with a hiss. Before him stood the ship’s commissary- a large collection of food and beverage to sustain the entirety of the crew. Most did not have access to this room, but it was yet another privilege awarded to the prince.

 _Privilege_. Vegeta scoffed at the thought. It had only taken twelve beatings, four conquered planets, and one public execution of a deserter to earn the code to the room. Yet, he had watched others go to far greater lengths for nothing more than a dishonorable death at Frieza’s sharpened fingertips.

With a growl, the prince grabbed a bottle among the collection on the wall and broke the seal. He threw the lid on the ground before bringing the smooth glass to his dry lips, stopping only to calm his trembling hands before taking a large swig. The liquid fire coated his throat, overwhelming his senses, but he swallowed it down like it was his first breath of air. The drink calmed his nerves slightly, already hitting his bloodstream with just the first taste.

Vegeta liked to think this tryst in the pantry was nothing more than a late-night craving, but deep down, he knew that he was trying to outrun his dream. Trying to fight the feeling of being trapped with not an ounce of control.

He looked around, taking in the bounty of food and drink, then down at his healthy physique, marred only by a few scars. He was young, strong, and determined. His planet and people may be gone, but so many others had met the same fate, only to struggle the rest of their miserable lives.

But not Vegeta.

He was a prince; the promised son of Vegeta-sei and the future of the legend he was born to encompass.

Yet, this was not his ship. The crew did not heed his orders. He had privileges and luxury, but they had come at a steep price.

Yes, he was a prince- a prince with his hands tied behind his back and mouth stuffed with his master’s words. Bound against his will like a waking nightmare.

As he sipped away his terror, Vegeta resolved himself to his life of fleeting moments of dominance and pride. It wasn't enough to be a fierce warrior on the battlefield when you came back to your master to lick his boots and grovel. The high of conquest always faded away when you realized you were nothing more than a trained animal, dancing for public show.

In his drunken revelry, the prince realized that he would never escape this circus of carnage and humiliation, and just like fear, he would have to embrace it, perhaps push through until he found the other side or die trying.

The empty bottle made the oddest sound as it shattered upon the hard floor, slipping past Vegeta’s fingertips as he stumbled towards the door.

Perhaps now, he could finally sleep.

Perhaps now, the haunting blue eyes from his dream wouldn't torture him so mercifully.


	2. (Easier To Run)

  
_Just washing it aside,_  
_all of the helplessness inside._  
_Pretending I don't feel misplaced;_  
_it's so much simpler than change._

* * *

 

  
“Come here, Monkey.”

Zarbon patted the tops of his thighs as he bent over, cooing his words pretentiously. “Come here, little prince,” the green man suggested again, laughing as Vegeta crawled on the floor, a bloody mess swaying from side to side.

One of the prince’s eyes was swollen completely shut while the other struggled to focus against the torrent of unwanted drugs in his system.

 _I have a training exercise for you,_  Frieza had promised.

Vegeta should've known that wine-stained smile only promised pain, but he would not give up. He kept pushing himself forward on his nearly-shattered hands and knees, trying desperately to reach the man who had brought him to the edge of death.

Zarbon merely giggled at the sight, adjusting his long green braid with slender fingers. Blood was splattered across his sickly green skin, but his flesh was otherwise unmarred.

 _That sick fuck,_  Vegeta thought angrily, enraged by his situation and the potent cocktail of suppressants in his veins. _This_ _is_ _not_ _a_ _fair_ _fight!_

As the prince’s mind spat vitriol, his body finally gave out, limbs collapsing beneath him until his face met the hard, cold floor.

Somewhere in the distance, his assailant laughed again, Zarbon’s feminine pitch irritating and disturbing. Vegeta heard Dodoria chuckle as well, and humiliation crept into his exhausted body amidst outright fury. He lifted his head defiantly, leveling his hard gaze on his attacker, but Zarbon merely winked in response.

Just when the prince was about to unleash a flurry of curses, he saw Zarbon back off and bow graciously toward the floor. A few feet away, Dodoria did the same.

Frieza had arrived.

Vegeta heard the telltale stomping of large, three-toed feet and the always impatient clucking of a reptilian tongue.

“Having fun, Monkey?” the warlord inquired, bringing his compact body into Vegeta’s view. He looked down at the prince and frowned. “My, Vegeta, you are such a disappointment. It was only a few sedatives. Is Saiyan blood really so weak?”

In response, Vegeta spat up onto the metal ground and glared at the warlord. He would not satisfy the creature by showing agitation. He was a machine bred for war and power; a Saiyan prince who was ruthless. He would not give in so easily.

Frieza cocked his head, a grin creeping over his smooth white flesh. “Ah, such bold defiance even in the face of reality,” he observed, squating down so that he was closer to the prince. He began to trail one long-nailed finger down the side of Vegeta’s face, collecting the congealed blood there. “I will admit that is what I admire about you, Monkey. It is why I keep you around- a sick fascination for the pet I bought from your ignorant father.”

Vegeta bristled at the mention of his father, but he remained otherwise impassive, rage seething in his eyes. He could feel his body beginning to quiver with aftershocks of tension being released by his overworked muscles, but he remained stoic.

The warlord seemed delighted by the show of resistance, rising to his feet and turning to his second in command with flourish. Though he was facing Zarbon, he still addressed the prince lying prone on the ground. “It is a shame that Raditz and Nappa failed my tests,” he stated dryly. “I was hoping to see the great legend of your people come to life. Such a strong power would instantly become worthy of reigning this universe by my side.”

Frieza’s statement seemed to fluster Zarbon.

“But my lord,” the green man protested, “I am to rule beside you!”

The warlord chuckled at the outburst. “Do you really think you are capable of such power, Zarbon?” Frieza inquired with mirth. “Look at our dear prince here. Do you even know how many times he has been near death, only to bounce back with more strength and vigor? You have hardly been bothered to chase after challenges; you prefer weaker prey and that is why you will never be worthy.”

Zarbon’s bewildered expression quickly hardened into that of malice and Vegeta let out a chuckle at the preposterous conversation. He laughed again, thinking about how entirely fucked up the situation was.

The prince was drugged, abused by the sick creature who had destroyed his planet and made him the sole survivor of his race, and yet he was being praised for his tenacity to survive? Being offered a seat at the warlord’s right hand?

He laughed harder and faster, greedily gasping in air as pain ravaged his body and fluid filled his lungs.

What a way to die: amused by your own depraved nature.

Frieza giggled too, stepping once more in front of the prince. A hand darted out and Vegeta was dragged up by the top of his training suit to become eye-level with the creature. His head lolled to the side and he could feel fluid slosh around in his mouth.

“You understand, do you not, Monkey? How I have to break you to make you stronger so that we can rule together flawlessly?” Frieza paused to lick his lips, his beady red gaze boring into Vegeta’s good eye. “I have another test for you. One that will take everything you have in you, and if you pass, there will be no more of these games. Just a throne and the universe at your fingertips.”

The warlord looked over to both Zarbon and Dodoria, who were watching on with incredulity. “They will never understand,” Frieza continued. “They can never be what we are. You and I Vegeta- we are two kindred souls in this shallow, pathetic world. Prove to me that I did not waste my time freeing you from that life of mediocrity. You were not meant to rule a planet. You were meant to rule everything.”

Vegeta felt his heart stop upon hearing those words. Many things passed Frieza’s lips on a daily basis: insults, hate, abuse, lies…..

Was this another lie? Another attempt at control and manipulation? Why praise him so when such a thing had never occurred before?

The prince’s tongue felt heavy, caught in his mouth. For a moment as he stared into those reptilian eyes, he felt like a cub again, looking up at his new master’s face for the first time.

_”You will thank me for this later, Monkey.”_

Was that the creature's plan after all these years? To make him live up to his cruelest, most wicked potential?

Frieza cracked a smile before leaning closer to place his dewy lips against the prince’s ear. “I know what you want most in this universe, Vegeta,” he whispered. “Control. Will you allow me to open your mind so that you can accept this gift?” The warlord then pulled back in careful assessment.

Vegeta stared blankly at his captor, slack-jawed. Blood crested over his lips and down his chin. He knew that he was close to death; close to becoming the failure that his father was always terrified of. It was why the King sent Tarble away to die- a weakness that no Saiyan prince should ever entertain.

Slowly, Vegeta began to nod, his good eye slipping shut as death began clawing at the edges of his mind.

Frieza’s voice seemed so far away, distorted. “Good choice, little monkey. I promise that you will not regret it.”

The fallen prince knew that he shouldn't be so trusting. Frieza’s promises were nothing but sugar-coated poison, but unfortunately, Vegeta had developed an addiction.

* * *

 

It was dark when Bulma finally woke up, her body in stiff agony. She cried out when she tried to move, but the pain was instantly chased away by the realization that she was no longer in the tiny crate. Now, she could feel the telltale vibrations of a spacecraft and hear the distant hum of machinery. Her stomach clenched in hunger while a droplet of sweat fell from her brow.

She blinked slowly, letting her senses adjust to the new environment, finding that she was not alone. It appeared that she was in a small cargo bay, with others like her sitting against the cool metallic walls. Bulma assumed they were bound as well and now that she was aware of their presence, soft murmuring and muffled snores met her ears. The others were quiet, which meant that they too had been taken from captivity like her; they knew how to conduct themselves when being traded from one merchant to another.

It seemed that whoever had bought her was also collecting other prisoners- for what, she still didn't know. She shivered involuntarily at the stories that flooded her mind. Stories of men who bought war prisoners for entertainment, often making them play sadistic games or using them like animals to hunt.

The lizards had claimed that they wanted her for her mind, but did they intend to use it as a challenge or some kind of sport? Again, Bulma had scoffed at such tales at the time, but now she was beginning to realize just how lucky she had been to end up in the hands of masters who only required her to build things.

Just as she was beginning to despair, something nuzzled her neck and Bulma recoiled in surprise. She couldn't move far away, as another body was sitting to her left, but it seemed that one of the other captives had fallen asleep on her shoulder, their wild, spiky hair assaulting her face. She tried fidgeting around in order to get away, but a set of large hands came to rest on her waist and prevent her from moving. Her unwanted company must've had their wrists bound in front of their body rather than behind.

“Please don't move,” the stranger mumbled, speech slurring. The voice was deep and masculine with a slight lilt. Surprisingly pleasant. He spoke a common tongue, but this fact didn't soothe Bulma in anyway. She wasn't here to make friends.

Before Bulma could retort, the unknown man continued. “You're so soft and warm,” he whispered into her neck drowsily, his hot breath ghosting over her already overheated skin. “So soft… so warm…”

The way he spoke was almost child-like, but judging by his size, he was a grown man. His hands were certainly strong, and if she squinted hard enough, she could make out his long legs sprawled out in front of them in the near dark.

Since she was stuck in the awkward position, Bulma decided to make the best of it. “Do you know where we're going?” she asked, trying not to flinch as he continued to breathe against her skin. She swore she felt him smile in response.

“I dunno,” the man replied, drawing out his words. “I feel really funny. They stuck a needle in me. I don't like needles.”

So he was drugged then. Great. Not that she really had much freedom to complain, but she would prefer to be left alone during her confusion.

“What's your name?” the stranger nuzzled up to her suddenly asked, causing Bulma to jump slightly.

“Uh, it’s Bulma,” she replied in their common language, but she knew the name would give her away if this guy knew anything about earth. He was humanoid from what she could tell, so maybe he would know something about her homeworld.

The man shifted slightly, causing his lips to brush her ear. He giggled. “Bulma….. Bulma…. Bulma….” He repeated the name over and over as if he was trying to place it. He gasped excitedly. “Are you from earth? ’Cause I am!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly for Bulma’s tastes.

She shushed him, but a split second later, his words caught up to her.

“Where from?” she inquired incredulously, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She had met others from earth before, but they had been from other countries, and while the novelty was still nice, the way this stranger had pronounced her name filled her with hope.

Instead of answering her question directly, the man began softly singing a children’s song in broken Japanese.

Her loud gasp startled everyone in the cargo bay, the space instantly becoming silent. Bulma waited to reply to her fellow earthling, letting the other prisoners return to their quiet chattering while her heart pounded violently in her chest.

She responded to him in stuttered Japanese as well, her mind struggling to remember the language though she had only been in captivity for nearly eight years. But those years seemed like a lifetime away from the bustling city she had grown up in with the large building of her father’s corporation being the crown jewel. She told the man what part of the country she was from and he laughed once more right into her sensitive ear.

“Oh, I lived around that same area, but in the mountains until I was taken away,” the stranger explained, seemingly through with using their old language. The way he slipped back into using common galactic dialect told her that he had been taken when he was a child too, and that he now probably had trouble remembering as much as her. Language was a tricky thing; you either used it or it began to fade away until all you could do was mutter small words to yourself at night.

Bulma nodded her head along with his explanation, amazed to find someone from her birthplace in a situation like this. It was either incredibly lucky or heartbreakingly tragic.

“What were you doing before this?” the man inquired softly, shifting his body slightly, snuggling closer.

“Uh, I've been building machines as a slave,” Bulma explained. “What about you?” she asked gently, knowing that some slaves never liked being asked about what their former masters had used them for. She knew it was rude, but she wanted more clues as to why she had been bought.

“Hmm….. I did mean things, but that's over now,” the man replied wistfully. “Now everything will be ok.”

“How do you know that? You don't even know where we're going.” Bulma gaped at the stranger in the dark. Slaves rarely ever had hope; their demeanor was always borderline pessimistic or suicidal.

“Well…. where would you want to go?”

Bulma recoiled at the man’s question, leaning her head back against the hard wall of the spacecraft. She had never given much thought to what life would look like if she was free; if she could choose her own destination. Her lips tried to form an answer, but her mind couldn't fathom a valid reply.

The truth was, she had gone so long without free will that she had forgotten what it felt like to fantasize, to plan a life that seemed out of reach.

Bulma remained quiet in contemplation for a few more moments, but the sudden silence between her and the man became unnerving, especially since he was so close physically.

“I… don't think it matters where. I just want the opportunity to finally choose.” The words slipped past her lips before her muddled mind could stop them, but once they were out, she felt relieved. The statement was the truest thing she had spoken in quite awhile and the thought made her smile.

“That sounds nice… Bulma.”

The man nestled his face into her neck again and after a few more moments, he began to hum to himself, seemingly on his way to dreamland. She listened to her unexpected guest for some time, staring into the darkness as his warmth seeped into her side through her thin jumpsuit.

She was just about to doze off herself when full lips meant the shell of her ear softly, almost questioning, before his voice resonated in her skull.

“My name is Goku,” the man whispered. “I think we should be friends.”

Bulma found herself at a loss for words as the man resumed his sleeping position. She had never really had a friend before. All the other prisoners hated her for her intellect and biting sarcasm. She was resourceful, surviving on logic, obeying orders, and choosing her battles wisely.

She had use for favor, food, shelter, and knowledge, but never friendship.

Perhaps she had lost the need for emotion long ago. When had she become so practical?

It didn't take long for Goku to fall asleep against her, his bound hands still resting gently on her waist. She decided not to move him; he was only being nice, and as she contemplated recent events and the unknown future, she decided it might be useful to have a friend.

“Ok,” Bulma agreed to his offer, though several minutes had passed and he was snoring softly.

It felt good to be in control of something for once. Too bad the tightness around her wrists and ankles told her that the pleasant feeling wouldn't stick around for long.

Despite her discomfort, Bulma managed to fall into a light slumber, head lolling to the side to inhale her new friend's scent. He was cleaner than her, and it was oddly comforting, as was the subtle rumbling of his snores.

As she dreamed, flashes of her lives passed in front of her exhausted eyes- a younger version of her walking through the gardens of Capsule Corp., hands stretched out to feel the neatly-trimmed hedges. Then, memories of her first few years in captivity, locked away, her recollection of sunlight slowly fading.

Bulma whimpered in her sleep, restless as her mind cycled through pain, until a new vision appeared, leaving her bewildered.

It was a set of dark eyes staring at her with malice. The eyes began to weep, blood welling up in the corners before falling like rain from a pitch black sky. The vision was so surreal that she was startled awake, heart pounding furiously as the eyes still stared at her from her mind. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to scream.

“It's ok.” Goku was back at her ear again. “Sleep… it was just a dream.”

Bulma nodded in agreement, but the blood racing through her veins spoke louder than any whispered sentiments from a stranger.

 

 


	3. (With You)

  
_I woke up in a dream today,_   
_to the cold of the static and put my cold feet on the floor._   
_Forgot all about yesterday,_   
_remembering I’m pretending to be where I’m not anymore;_   
_a little taste of hypocrisy._

 

* * *

 

  
Bright sunlight accosted Bulma’s face, causing her to whine in misery as the sudden light left her head throbbing. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to wake from her half-hearted nap. Beside her, she could feel her new friend rouse, and when she finally opened her eyes, he was looking at her curiously.

The door to the cargo bay had been opened, and as their lizard-like captors started taking inventory of their prisoners, Bulma took the opportunity to assess the man who had been so comfortable with her.

He was younger than her, possibly a new adult, but his physique was anything but childish. He was wearing the same jumpsuit as Bulma, but his was nearly skin-tight against his broad frame. Taut muscles writhed under his pale flesh and just above his corded neck was an angular face with a boyish grin. His eyes were still heavy with either sleep or drugs, but they seemed to smile at her with their dark irises. The hair that had been persistent in tickling her face was wild, jutting in all different directions, but Bulma would bet it would be like black silk underneath her fingertips.

Goku smiled at her momentarily, before seemingly realizing the development in their situation. His eyes darted over to the creatures who were now yanking prisoners to their feet before settling back on Bulma. She wasn't sure what he thought of her, but he grinned like an idiot before being roughly forced to stand.

A gray-skinned lizard approached and Bulma was pulled up next. The captor gave her a once over before whistling suggestively through his chapped lips. She made a disgusted face at him, her old tendencies to either curse or spit in the face of authority bubbling to the surface. But before she could take action, a low growl resonated beside her and she turned to find Goku wearing a deadly expression. The offending lizard narrowed his eyes momentarily before laughing the threat off and moving on to the next body on the ground.

Bulma looked over to thank her silent savior, but he was being pulled away and out of the ship. Soon she was pushed out too, tumbling over her bound feet and onto the dirt outside. The sunlight was intense but the air was cold and thin.

The lizards began to inspect their bounty, stopping occasionally to clarify names before removing the restraints from their captive’s feet.

Though she was glad to be able to walk properly again, Bulma nearly cursed at the stiffness in her ankles. It would feel like hell to walk, but she had a feeling that's exactly what they were going to be made to do. She heard a groan in front of her, now strangely tuned into the voice of her new friend, and watched Goku flex the muscles in his legs as well as his bare feet. He didn't seem to be in as much as pain as her, but he looked extremely puzzled, as if he was looking for something on his body.

She was watched him with interest, now taking in the sight of him standing tall in the sun until a black sack was forced over her head once more. She was getting really tired of that trick and Bulma wondered why there was a need for all the secrecy if they were being led to slaughter like animals. She then felt a push on her back and took the hint to begin walking forward.

A command was shouted out for the prisoners to walk with their bound hands on the back of the person in front of them, but Bulma’s hands were secured behind her back. “I can't,” she replied blindly, knowing it was better to say the least amount possible and jiggle her hands around in demonstration.

Even through the fabric of the hood, the assaulting slap stung like hell. Bulma stumbled from the blow, her ankles screaming for relief, but she managed to keep her balance.

“Do as you are told,” a voice hissed at her. “You will show-”

“Allow me,” a familiar voice cut off, and Bulma wanted to tell her friend that he was stupid for sticking up for her, but of course, Goku could probably withstand a slap more than she could.

Surprisingly, the lizard who had struck her didn't retort back and no violent sounds met her ears. She wondered what Goku was offering, but then something warm and fuzzy curled around her bicep and tugged her forward. For something so soft, it had a surprisingly strong grip and Bulma gasped.

“You have a tail,” she murmured as the group began to walk. How had she missed that just minutes earlier?

Goku chuckled softly in front of her. It was a pleasant sound in such stark contrast to their circumstance.

“No talking! Walk, filth.”

The prisoners were made to walk for what felt like miles on their bare feet and in the cold. It was hard to breathe the air on whatever planet they had been brought to, but Bulma focused on the sensation of the tail wrapped around her arm rather than the torturous terrain or her throbbing cheek.

She didn't know how long they had been traveling, but at some point she could no longer feel the sun kissing her exposed skin and cold began to seep past her already thin jumpsuit. Just as she began to shuffle painfully rather than walk, the group was told to stop.

Sweat rolled down her face from the collection of her humid breath in the hood, and as she strained her ears, Bulma heard the whine of machinery and the release of pressure- a very large door was being opened. Perhaps another space craft?

Then they were moving again, herded inside a confined space until all the bodies were pressed together. She must've ended up against Goku because she could feel him him laugh softly, the vibrations in his large chest somewhat comforting despite the unknown. His tail was still holding onto her and she wondered if the gesture was out of kindness or need.

Then the mass of prisoners were pushed out of the space, falling on each other in the chaos. Bulma had been one of the lucky ones to land on top of another body, but she could hear some of the others curse loudly as their knees met the ground with crushing force.

“Now.”

The command came from somewhere in front of them- a voice that was high-pitched and inhuman. Bulma had never heard it before but somehow she knew that this was the person in charge. This was the voice that was going to change her life forever.

The sack over her face was ripped off, leaving Bulma to heave in fresh air and blink away salty sweat. Her eyes struggled to focus, but once they did, another lizard creature wavered in her vision.

This one was different than the others that brought her. He was almost…. mesmerizing, conjuring up the same wondrous feeling of looking upon a newly discovered animal or plant.

As a child, Bulma had watched her father explore the boundaries of science, and she had inherited that same sort of awe of the unknown and of things that seemed so pretty yet were dangerous.

Whatever this thing was, it was marvelous.

His skin was a brilliant shade of white, pearly, accented with plates of amethyst in strategic places: his shoulders, wrists, ankles, and most notably, a large portion of his head. But it was his gaze- blood-red and narrowed in assessment- that sent shivers down her spine.

The creature cocked his head and smacked his lips together before looking over to one of the other lizards. “Why are they in this condition?” he inquired brusquely, seemingly offended that his prisoners had been treated so terribly.

“Lord Frieza, you wanted them brought here, so….”

“Quiet.” A clipped voice. Commanding.

So this was Frieza….. the creature who bought her for a purpose.

Frieza leveled his eyes at the mass of bodies bound on the floor and shook his head slowly. “Unbind them and clean them up,” he ordered. “How dare they be treated as such. They are here for a very important reason and I will not have them regarded as trash.”

The other lizards seemed taken aback by their boss’ statement, but they complied all the same, systematically releasing the prisoners and leading them away in organized lines.

When Bulma was freed, she was told to follow the other women to the bathing room, but she heard a boisterous complaint from her new friend.

“I want to go with her,” Goku told the lizard adamantly. He no longer looked drowsy and his eyes were clearer, shining with determination. It seemed that whatever he had been drugged with was on its way out of his system.

“I'm fine,” Bulma assured her friend, trying to avoid causing a scene. “Really, it's ok.”

She wasn't sure why he had become clingy when they had just met, but besides the discomfort, she had to be brave. She had to be smart- it was the only way to survive this kind of life. You chose your battles wisely and you didn't attract attention from your masters.

“I'm coming with you,” Goku stated, pushing away from the creature that had freed him and wrapping his tail around her waist.

“Goku!” Bulma exclaimed at the sudden intimate touch, the fire of her youth breaking free. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

Her friend seemed startled by her outburst, but a slap to his face muffled his response.

“You do as you are told,” a lizard hissed at him, pulling his long-fingered hand away from the attack.

Goku reared his arm back, jaw clenching as he formed a fist. His eyes were hard, but focused, as if he was trying desperately not to react.

“Stop,” a pitchy voice ordered, Frieza appearing at the scene of conflict immediately. He pushed down the offending lizard subordinate and hovered over him. “Did I not give orders to treat these beings with respect?” he inquired, annoyed.

“Y-Yes but he-”

There was no slap to punish. No threat. Just a simple lift of a finger and a blast of light. The smell of scorched fleshed perfumed the air as Frieza silenced the argument.

All that was left was a smoking corpse.

Bulma could see the metal floor through the lizard’s chest. Horrified, she recoiled back, only to have a strong tail keep her upright.

Frieza smirked at his handiwork before turning to address the two startled prisoners. “What are your names?” the creature asked.

“Goku.” Bulma’s friend answered first in a distant voice, staring at the dead body on the ground. His eyes glazed over and his fist relaxed.

Frieza nodded slowly, his eyes scanning over the man. “Excellent.” He then turned towards Bulma curiously.

“Bulma Briefs,” she replied, adding in her last name as she always did. It was the only thing of her family that she had left.

“Excellent,” Frieza repeated before giving more orders to those working under him. “No one assaults the guests or else they will pay dearly.”

A chorus of obedience rang out in the air. “Yes, Lord Frieza.”

The creature looked towards the two earthlings, then settled on Goku. “You can stay with her. You both can bathe after the presentation,” he stated before finding another compliant lizard. “Take them towards the lab, I will join you shortly.”

And with that, Frieza turned on his large foot, tail swinging wildly as he sauntered away.

“This way,” the lizard directed Bulma and she followed, Goku in tow, though he had unwrapped his tail from her.

The creature seemed amused, but quickly led them through winding corridors with stark white walls backlit by strong lights. Everything was so smooth and flawless, as if it was carved out of pure white stone. The decor was also minimalistic and mechanical. In addition to power, it seemed that Frieza had a lot of currency to spar.

The earthlings were led to the beginning of a hallway where they were told to wait for the prisoners to finish cleaning up. Frieza approached them sometime later with the other captives following closely behind. Each one looked nervous, but also relieved, as if the simple act of bathing had afforded them a sense of comfort.

Bulma sighed deeply; she was now acutely aware of how dirty she was and the amount of grime caked on her skin. If Goku was bothered by her appearance and smell, he didn't say as much, standing as close to her as possible, his tail tapping her restlessly.

Several more lizards appeared to guide the group down a long corridor that was cold and plated with shiny metal. The environment was vastly different from the decor she had noticed on her way over, signaling that wherever Frieza was leading them was not as luxurious as the earlier accommodations. In fact, the farther they walked, the more the building seemed to degrade. The metallic walls became rusty in some spots, fading into an industrial scene with large pipes and jagged, welded portholes.

Bulma tried looking out the small windows as they passed by, but the group was moving too fast, spurred on by several lizards behind them. The prisoners came to an abrupt stop and it was then that she realized Goku was holding her hand. She glanced up at him, but he was staring at the door opening before them, his brow set in a determined line.

She didn't have time to contemplate his sudden defensiveness, for they were being led into a large room that reminded her of a medical lab. The room was empty save for a few cabinets with various supplies and it was dimly lit, the only true source of light shining on the center of the room. Bulma squinted against the harsh fluorescence as they moved forward, taking in the sight before her with apprehension.

A man was lying on an operating table. He was chained to the fixture, but was clearly unconscious, his strong brow relaxed and full lips parted.

Frieza beckoned for the group to step closer, which they did with hesitation.

Bulma didn't know why she pushed her way to the front of the crowd until her fingertips met the cool metal of the examination table, but she blamed it on an innate sense of scientific curiosity. The same curiosity that ran in her blood and propelled her to create and think. She thirsted for knowledge, for understanding, and she hadn't realized how deprived she had been since she was taken from earth until the moment her eyes landed on the strange man.

Until she saw _him_  so close.

Frieza didn't offer up an explanation, but Bulma knew that this man was dangerous. The same macabre wonder that struck her upon seeing Frieza for the first time hit her again- this time ten-fold- as she stared down at the body on the table.

He was exquisite, a perfect physical specimen in every way, clothed in nothing but tight-fitting black shorts. Even the scars that mapped the taut expanse of his muscled physique only added to the allure. Bulma felt like she was standing above a deadly, exotic animal- one which the world rarely had the opportunity to see.

She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to touch him. Lifting a trembling hand, she slowly extended a finger, but she caught herself with a gasp.

What was she thinking?

“Go ahead,” Frieza encouraged from the other side of the table. His white hands were splayed out on the metal casually. His nails were a putrid shade of black. “It is alright to be curious, Miss Briefs.”

The way the creature addressed her gave Bulma chills, so she quickly diverted her attention back to the unconscious man. Others were crowding her to get a look, pushing and jostling, but time stopped for Bulma as her hand hovered over his large, bulging arm. She lifted her eyes to his face, fingertips grazing his flesh.

Why was she so interested in him? Why had fear left her so suddenly upon seeing this man?

His face was angular with a strong jaw. His hair was the color of midnight, of waking up in the dark alone. His eyes were shut, but no doubt their darkness would gleam with black fire had they been opened.

Somehow Bulma associated this man with the eyes from the strange dream she had experienced aboard the ship. The eyes that held her captive long after Goku had tried to lull her back to sleep.

But how?

Swallowing hard, she forced the invasive thoughts away in favor of more careful observation.

The man had a defined nose which led down to full, rose-tinted lips. His mouth was severely chapped and Bulma found herself wondering how unpleasant he would be to kiss.

How unpleasant he would be to taste.

How _pleasant_  he could be-

Bulma’s thoughts were interrupted when she realized that she had made the leap subconsciously- her hand was now touching his bicep. His bronzed flesh was warm beneath her fingers and she could almost feel his blood pulsing through his veins.

She swallowed hard and gripped him tighter. His heartbeat thrummed beneath her touch and it was racing just as fast as hers.

* * *

 

Vegeta’s mind swarmed with a conglomeration of colors and sounds. He tried to wake from his dream, but his body would not respond to his pleas. Angrily, he cursed, only to have the sound bounce back at him and fade away. He had been in a deep sleep before but this was disconcerting.

Slowly, his senses began to come back to him, and each time the prince picked up on a voice or a smell, he tried to move his body, but to no avail.

Surely he must still be dreaming, wrapped up in his bedsheets aboard Frieza’s ship. Why couldn't he wake up?

Just as Vegeta began to panic, cold realization set in. He remembered now- the beating at Zarbon’s hands, Frieza’s offer, then passing out.

Was this death or was the prince in the medical bay recovering from his injuries?

Strange, he didn't feel like he was floating in the regeneration tank. In fact, now he could feel everything except for the sensation of being encased in liquid. His body was hypersensitive and screaming for attention, yet he still couldn't move.

At the sound of Frieza laughing, Vegeta became tuned into the noise, along with hushed unfamiliar voices- a multitude of them, all so close. Strange that he could hear words, but could not comprehend them. What was wrong with him?

The prince seethed in confusion just a little while longer before he concluded that what was happening was reality, and he simply couldn't move or open his eyes for some reason. Perhaps this was the test Frieza had spoken of?

Vegeta was paralyzed, trapped within his own body.

Frieza spoke once more and the prince could feel fingers perched on his arm, almost touching, but not quite.

Why was the creature touching him so carefully?

He heard a soft hum, a subconscious sound in a pleasing register. A gasp, light and muffled.

Then he was touched. The hand was small, with blunt nails- not the hand of the warlord of the universe. The fingers were slender and they dug into his skin, setting his whole body on fire.

Somehow Vegeta knew. This was the assailant from his dream, the person who tortured him until tears streamed down his face, burning his raw cheeks.

He desperately wanted to get away from the memory and this person, but his body still wouldn't cooperate, so he screamed inside his mind. Screamed until he cold feel his body reacting in the physical world, his heart racing impossibly fast, head throbbing with pain.

Maybe he would die. Maybe he was being killed right then as the soft touch eased him towards the afterlife.

Perhaps the heavens had finally decided to be merciful and let death take him before he could open his eyes, because he knew what he would find upon waking.

If the prince could see, he would be eclipsed by the haunting blue eyes that would make him forget everything except pain…… and unspeakable pleasure.

Vegeta’s heart stopped. He laughed uncontrollably in his mind.

He had forgotten that part of the dream until now, when it emerged from the dark recesses of his mind and consumed him wholly.

The same touch causing him so much agony would bring him to the edge of bliss.

For a moment, he forgot the torture the blue eyes had forced upon him in his dream and recalled what came before.

Sweat-laced skin gliding against soft flesh. Their foreheads touching, faces impossibly close while his lips quivered with need. Gasps for air and grunts of frustration. The desperate need for more- to push harder, move faster. Blood pouring from his mouth as he bit his lip against the onslaught of world-shattering pleasure. All while those blue eyes taunted him, calling out for him.

Yes, his assailant was touching him, and he wasn't sure how to respond, fear and excitement warring in the crowded confines of his psyche.

The question was, was this another complicated fallacy formed by his beaten mind or were those blue eyes really on the other side of his eyelids, waiting to show him something he had yet to discover?

Suddenly, the touch was gone, leaving Vegeta whispering to himself in the black emptiness.

* * *

 

Bulma pulled her back when she saw the strange man’s eyes flutter. She was startled, cradling her hand against her chest as if she had just burnt it terribly- his flesh had been on fire, the sensation creeping into her bones.

She looked up to find Frieza grinning at her, his beady eyes pleased with something she wasn't sure of. Before he could address her again, she turned and pushed through the crowd of prisoners, letting the others get their chance to look at the man on the table.

Goku was waiting for her, standing on the edge of the crowd with a blank expression. He gave her a hollow look, eyes glossed over with confusion and anger, but before she could inquire about this, Frieza cleared his throat loudly.

The creature walked to the front of the lab and eyed the prisoners curiously before stepping out of the way and pointing to a the screen on the wall. An image immediately popped up on it, inciting a loud gasp from the entirety of the room.

Bulma was breathless. Her heart stopped and her eyes went wide in disbelief.

Before her was a glowing image of the man she had just touched, covered in blood, hands outstretched like a god waiting to be worshipped. In them he held organs, blood pouring from his fingers, the apparent victim lying at his feet with flesh ripped wide open. He was smiling, pearly white teeth flecked with tiny spots of red.

But it was the eyes that consumed her the most. The dark, unforgiving eyes of a monster, framed by bronze skin and a shock of black hair that stood on his head like a wicked flame. The eyes from her dream.

“This,” Frieza began, pointing a slender white finger toward the image, “is the reason you all are here.”

Bulma felt pulse quicken as her eyes began to water under the strain of growing even wider.

“His name is Prince Vegeta,” Frieza clarified, pausing to look toward the man on the table. He cocked his head jarringly before turning back to the gathered crowd. “I have an offer to make you,” he declared, grinning like the devil. “Are you prepared to accept it?”

Bulma had thought the name of her new master would change her life forever but it appeared that she was wrong.

So very wrong.

She trembled.


	4. (Save Yourself)

  
_I know that you've been damaged;_   
_your soul has suffered such abuse._   
_But I am not your savior;_   
_I am just as fucked as you._

* * *

 

“Prince Vegeta.”

The name fell from Goku’s lips in awe, causing Bulma to tear her attention away from Frieza to the man beside her. Her friend wasn't as horrified by the image on the screen as she was. Instead, bewilderment colored his strong features.

“He has a tail too,” Goku observed, lips pursing together in concentration.

Bulma forced herself to study the picture once more. Indeed, the gruesome man had a tail as well, and though she didn't know the value of such a discovery, it seemed to shake Goku to his core.

He claimed that he was from earth- human- but he had a tail? Maybe Her friend wasn't fully human then, and he was just beginning to understand this fact.

Subconsciously, Bulma reached out to touch the furry appendage coiled around his waist, but Goku flinched away from her touch. Her eyes then wandered over to the table again, taking in the serene face of the unconscious man. Traces of his touch still danced on her skin, and an indescribable feeling swelled in her gut.

She had felt this way before, some time ago as she left her home in the middle of the night against her parents’ wishes. Back then, she had a bag on her hip and the dragon radar in her gloved hands. All she had wanted was freedom and adventure and look where it got her.

Bulma’s eyes slipped back to the grotesque image on the screen then back to the examination table, trying to justify the conflicting scenes. Frieza’s pitchy voice startled her.

“Prince Vegeta is the reason for your suffering,” Frieza stated coldly. “His father was the one who ordered the destruction of your planets, but Vegeta took command of his family’s enterprise after the death of his father. He is ruthless, brutal, and a complete monster. But most notably, he runs the entire market of slave trafficking.”

A collective gasp resounded throughout the room. Bulma had never been exposed to such information being in captivity for so long, but the lack of knowledge had always been a welcomed blindness. If she didn't know who was responsible, she couldn't feel the burning hatred in her heart. Instead, she had become numb, resolved to the idea that she would always live like this, without a purpose or need.

Now, everything had changed.

Now, she was staring directly at her greatest despair. The man who promoted the kind of hell she had been introduced to. It was enough to make her tremble and shake with seething fury.

Frieza nodded his head along with the angry murmurings of the crowd, his slit eyes drooping with what appeared to be sympathy. “Vegeta is a fearsome enemy of the empire I have built,” he continued. “My sole purpose is to unite the planets and give purpose to the population of the universe. The Planet Trade Organization exists to bring opportunity to races who have none. I have begun the task of systematically breaking Vegeta’s hold on the market, but he is strong and many follow his command in order to earn his currency. I do what I can, but I am severely outnumbered.”

Several of the prisoners shouted at this statement, their heated words escaping Bulma’s comprehension. Her focus was solely on the prince lying on the table, so vulnerable. Her hand was still cradled to her chest and tears bubbled up in the corners of her eyes at the memory of her family.

Frieza smirked at the reaction his words elicited. “I know how most of you must feel, so when my forces captured him alive, I stopped to think of the proper way of getting retribution.

“For this reason, I have scoured the systems, searching for brilliant minds to help me conceive the best way to achieve justice. It would not be enough for me to simply kill him myself. He has scarred my operations, but it was not me who he had struck down. It was you beings who were wronged. It is you who must decide his fate.”

_His fate?_  Bulma pondered as she felt a single tear slide down her heated cheek. She swallowed back a myriad of emotions: anger, hurt, disbelief. Just what had she done to deserve this strange opportunity?

“So you want us to kill him?” a man asked, pushing through the crowd forcefully. He looked slightly older than Bulma and had a mass of curly blonde hair atop his head. His jaw was clenched as he addressed their new master and even in the dim lighting, she could see that a large portion of his face was severely disfigured.

“No, he would be seen as a martyr to his followers,” Frieza explained curtly. “They think of him as a god, so we will show them that their god can bleed, that he is nothing more than flesh and bone and haughty lies.”

“Why us?” a young girl asked meekly, wringing her hands as she stared anywhere but at the creature she was addressing.

Frieza smiled at her. “Each of you was selected for a speciality that will help deliver judgement for this wretched soul,” he clarified. “I want your minds to concoct a special kind of hell for this criminal, and in exchange, you will earn your freedom. No more chains or tedious tasks. No more masters or despair. Just freedom under the wide berth of the PTO. If you choose to decline, I will graciously return you to your old masters if you so wish. I know it seems unfair, but I spared a great deal of currency to acquire you and that money could be better spent on our cause if some of you choose not to cooperate.”

Silence engulfed the group. Bulma could hear blood rushing in her veins as the realization of what they were being asked to do set in.

“My offer is simple,” the creature continued, pacing the front of the room slowly. “I want you to break Vegeta physically and psychologically using your intellect, the gifts you that have been made to squander most of your lives. Together, we will present the broken man back to the universe and watch his loyalists flee like frightened insects.”

Torture.

He was asking them to perform torture. Bulma felt sick.

Frieza then paused, waiting for their answer, but the prisoners began to look to each other in confusion, probably wondering if this was all just an elaborate trick.

For Bulma, it wasn't a question of whether or not she wanted her life back, but how far she was willing to go to get it. She tore her blurry eyes away from the questioning looks of the others and back to the unconscious man on the table.

How could she use her knowledge to harm another? How did that make her any better than her slave masters? She felt so small at that moment, even more impotent than when she had been taken from earth.

Frieza was asking them to make the ultimate sacrifice of conscious even if it was in the name of justice.

Bulma wanted vengeance, no doubt, but she couldn't reconcile the man on the table with what was said about him. How could the prince look like a sleeping angel when he-

What was she thinking?

This man….. this monster …. was a violent, murderous psychopath who took without permission and ruined countless lives.

At least, that's what she was being told.

“I will give you all some time to think it over. Just know that those of you who choose to stay will begin the project tomorrow,” Frieza declared, fiddling with buttons on the wall until the bloody image of the prince disappeared from the screen. “For now, we can observe the subject firsthand. As you can see, he is heavily sedated; it is the only way to keep him restrained. I trust that our technology expert will remedy that.”

The creature glanced over at Bulma, those red eyes questioning yet firm.

It seemed that her job here would be along the same lines as her life in slavery, but Bulma wasn't convinced yet. She turned away from Frieza’s glare, partially disgusted with herself for even entertaining his proposition.

Goku had left her side at some point, and she found him standing a good distance away from all the chaos, arms crossed and mouth set in a thin line. Bulma reached out to embrace him, but caught herself as the strange emotion coursed through her body.

Why did she feel the need to comfort him?

“Hey!” Goku shouted, gaining the attention of everyone in the room, including Frieza.

The creature stepped into view and inclined his head, but made no sound.

“If everyone is here because they are smart, then why am I here?” Bulma’s friend asked dryly, causing some of the other prisoners to giggle. Goku’s expression didn't waver for a second- he was serious.

Frieza smiled at his question and crossed the room gracefully, hands behind his back. “Is it not obvious?” the creature inquired with mirth. “You are of the same species as him.”

One of Goku’s eyebrows twitched momentarily, but other than that, no shock could be seen on his stoic features. “I figured that out,” he spat. “Why is that important?”

“My boy, it will do the others well to be able to test restrictive devices on someone who is of similar strength and who possesses a tail. But you want honesty, so I will be blunt. You are a skilled fighter, as is Vegeta. I need your tactical brain to help us be certain that the prince will not escape. You can help dear Bulma here with that, right?”

At the creature’s words, Goku glanced over to Bulma, expression cracking completely. His eyes widened and he let out the air he had been holding.

“She cannot be successful without you, and you want that for her, do you not?”

The way Frieza spoke was demeaning, but the appeal to Goku’s child-like nature was working. Bulma shook her head in disgust at the obvious manipulation, trying to sort out her opinions of her new master. Could she trust the creature? He was obviously trying to placate all of them in order to get what he wanted, which was…… what exactly?

He said it himself: he could kill his enemy without them. He even had the man lying unconscious on a table!

So why offer them importance and freedom? Why offer the _choice_?

“I'll do it, but I want to stay with Bulma the entire time,” Goku suddenly offered, causing Frieza to stifle a laugh.

“As you wish,” the creature conceded before bowing at his waist. “Welcome to the team.”

Frieza then turned towards her, eyes inquisitive. “What about you Miss Briefs? Will you except my offer of freedom and the power to choose your own life? Goku cannot do it without you.”

It was another attempt at coddling and manipulation, but Bulma really didn't have a choice. She didn't trust that this creature would return her to her old masters; not after the privileged information he had shared with them. But she also knew when the devil was making her an offer.

Goku smiled weakly at her, a rosy tint coloring his pale cheeks. He was sticking up for her when he hardly knew her, and there was something about his childish innocence that she wanted to protect.

“For Goku,” Bulma stated, not wanting to give Frieza the satisfaction of her admitting that she was out of options.

Her friend broke out in a grin at her statement, boyishly running his hands through his wild hair and averting his gaze shyly.

“Excellent.” Frieza then motioned for the others to join him as he exited the room swiftly.

Bulma watched Goku saunter through the door, but she lingered inside the room for a few heartbeats, instinct telling her to turn around to view the monster on the table again. She forced the emotion down, eyes forward as she left her curiosity behind as they traversed down the corridor and back into the other half of the building.

It was there that a lizard pulled both Goku and Bulma aside roughly. “Dinner will be served now. You can bathe afterwards.”

Frieza was already moving on with the others, but the creature stopped to comment. “Keep them together,” he instructed, smiling at Goku mischievously.

Bulma was grateful that she wouldn't be separated from the only familiarly she had in this strange place, but part of her wondered if Goku would ever leave her alone.

The creature directed them to the dining hall, where they were told to enjoy their meal while their rooms were prepared.

Bulma had to admit that the food was alluring. All sorts of meats and vegetables were on display while various beverages were handed out to the prisoners as they dined. She followed the others’ actions carefully, still feeling as if she was back working for her master, expecting rationed grey slop to be slapped on a tray.

Goku, on the other hand, was completely overjoyed, shoving everything he could get his hands on into his awaiting mouth. While his actions garnered attention from the other prisoners, the lizards didn't seem to mind. They kept serving him with the same blank expressions, their slit eyes seemingly dead.

Bulma got a plate full of meat and savored the salty tang she rarely got to enjoy. She ate the entirety of it, licking the juices streaming down her hands. She then filled a plate with strange green vegetables, only to realize halfway through her meal that her stomach wasn't used to handling such a large volume of food.

Just as she was contemplating curling up in a ball on the floor, Goku accidentally knocked over an entire table full of delicacies and Bulma’s eyes darted towards the door as the lizards all went to investigate the accident.

Impulsively, she rushed out the exit, needing some space for herself to come to terms with where she was. She was being offered freedom, but just how much could she push the boundaries? Would the creatures come look for her and punish her for daring to wander?

As she walked the glowing white halls, Bulma decided that she didn't care what happened. She had never missed her old life of servitude and menial tasks so much. At least she knew what to expect then. At least her skills were being used to create, not destroy.

Then again, Frieza had claimed that the prince was responsible for this life. But did that mean she had the right to seek justice in such a fashion?

An open door caught her attention, and Bulma stopped dead in the middle of a small hallway, curious. She finally approached and opened it slowly, pushing aside anxiety in favor of knowledge.

If she could just get a better sense of her environment, of what exactly was in store for her…

The room was dark, but the entire back wall was made of glass- a window. Beyond that was a brightly-lit room where a man lie on the ground, staring at the ceiling.

For the second time that day, Bulma’s heart ceased to function for a beat.

It was _him_.

The lizards must've moved the prince after they had left, putting him in this strange cell.

The door clicked shut behind her, but all Bulma could hear was the the stuttering of her heart.

_Thump._

_Thump-thump….thump._

Then her ears pricked at another sound- a deep rumbling emanating from the cell.

She stepped up to the glass and gasped.

The prince was murmuring to himself.

He was awake.

 

* * *

 

  
Vegeta groaned as he tossed his restless body on the ground. He felt like he had been beaten severely more than once, his body protesting in ways he never thought possible. His eyes were heavy, nearly encrusted shut, and he struggled to become lucid against the lingering after-effects of the drugs in his system.

He flailed around uselessly a few more times until his abused body forced him to suck in a deep breath. As soon as the stale air hit his dry throat, he coughed violently, feeling unbridled pain race up his spine.

The prince wanted to scream out his torment, but he feared more retribution from his hoarse throat and overburdened lungs, so he settled on his back, breathing shallow, while his eyes fluttered open, breaking the seal of dried tears.

A stark white expanse met his muddied gaze and he instinctively knew that he was in one of the many cells Frieza used to contain powerful prisoners, only this time, his senses couldn't detect the familiar smell of his main ship.

No, this scent was new- crisp and industrial with a hint of foreign soil. Even the distant sounds were different- not the gentle hum of machinery or the pressurization of a craft traveling through space. His body felt more oriented in this space, which could only mean one thing: he had been transported off a Frieza’s ship and onto a planet.

And where exactly did Frieza hold his prisoners off-ship?

The Void.

A huge industrial institution designed to hold whoever Frieza deemed trouble enough to torture: traitors, deserters, enemies….. the list was long and arduous. It didn't take much to attract the warlord’s hatred, and Vegeta wondered exactly what the creature had in store for him.

Would he be forced to fight the prisoners for Frieza’s amusement? Perhaps execute them for show? He barely recalled the conversation leading up to their agreement, but he did remember Frieza mentioning that he needed to “break” the prince and open his mind.

Just as Vegeta began to ponder the depravities that Frieza could possibly conjure up for such a task, a voice resounded in the small cell near the large window.

“You look like shit.”

The prince sighed heavily and turned his gaze away from the ceiling to find Raditz slumped over in the corner, his long legs splayed out before him. His face was marred with a grotesque map of blue and purple and amongst the raven hue of his hair was the telltale sheen of congealing blood.

“You are dead,” Vegeta replied dryly, his dilated eyes adjusting repeatedly against the harsh light.

Raditz chuckled, a wet sound erupting from his throat. “You are such a little bitch, _prince_. Can you not just let me talk to you for once?”

With a groan, Vegeta forced his stiff neck to address the ceiling once more. It was always easier to speak to the hallucination when he didn't have to look at his lost friend. “It is not my choice to have you here,” he replied half-heartedly, knowing full well that Raditz would only leave once his blood ran free of drugs.

“It is your choice to be _here_ , is it not?” Raditz queried, condescending despite his battered state. He sucked in another breath, only to have his body purge it out. Vegeta heard something wet splatter on the floor. “Honestly, why do you let him do this to you? You know he is going to fuck you over just like he did me. Just like Nappa and the rest of our people.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of memories, the prince forced himself to admit the truth. “I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a good question, really. Part of him- the part that was still the naive cub sold to the warlord for appeasement- hoped that Frieza was truly offering him power. He was born to rule, and though his planet was gone, the craving for subjugation and status had not dwindled. About that much, the creature had been correct- Vegeta desired control, and it was being offered to him. All he had to do was become prone before his master for just a little while longer…

But on the other hand, Raditz was right. Frieza was going to kill him. He was a sadistic bastard who thrived on suffering and torment. It would not be unusual for the creature to concoct a complex plot to rid himself of the rebellious “monkey”.

Either way, Vegeta had chosen this fate, but he was not as weak as perceived.

“You know as well as I do, brother, that Saiyans become stronger every time they come close to death,” the prince replied haughtily, looking over to the ghost sitting by the wall. He had a sudden desire to watch Raditz’s expression as he unraveled his impulsive plan.

“So you are letting him nearly kill you in attempt to become stronger?” Raditz inquired with a bemused smile. “How very noble of royalty….. or foolish, if you could see it from my view.”

“You are dead,” Vegeta reminded the other, eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Who is truly the foolish one?”

Raditz’s face dropped momentarily before he began to giggle to himself, holding up his bloodied and gnarled hands. Frieza had snapped his fingers off one by one. “I guess you have a point,” the long-haired Saiyan conceded. “Have you considered what you will do if you fail to grow in strength and overpower him?”

“It is simple,” Vegeta declared, watching as his former comrade flexed the nubs that were now his hands. “If I fail, Frieza will kill me. Either way, I escape his hold.”

It was pathetic to admit such a thing, but the prince could only do so in the presence of a ghost.

Raditz’s abused form began to shake with howling laughter. As he bellowed, crimson began to pool beneath him from hidden wounds and crest over his swollen lips. “You think he will be the death of you?” he inquired, eyes gleaming with mischief even as saltwater poured from them. “You know who will be the death of you.”

The prince looked on with incredulity, struggling to comprehend this ghost’s sentiment. Shades of blue flashed in his vision as fire alighted upon his skin. He was becoming consumed by a memory- by the memory of being paralyzed while being touched.

Horrified, Vegeta began to recall the moment he had come in contact with the person from his nightmare, though he couldn't see them. He had hoped it had been nothing more than a hazy dream or even a hallucination like Raditz, but he was sobering up and now the truth was evident.

It was no dream, no drug-induced vision- it was real, _they_ were real, and he had the sinking feeling that his assailant was here in the facility. Was Frieza letting another play with his favorite toy?

“The answer to your question is yes,” Raditz stated casually, grinning like a predator. “She is here.”

“She?”

“Think about it, Vegeta. The blue eyes, the soft touch. It is a woman and she is coming for you.”

The prince felt his heart rate skyrocket, but he let his mind take over in an effort to stave off his terror.

Yes, it made sense now- the sensations when he was touched, the passionate fragments from his dream. So it was a woman. What was there to be frightened of? He could easily handle a frail female.

For the first time in days, Vegeta felt tension leave him. The problem that had been hanging over his head and haunting his waking moments was nothing more than a single _woman_.

He didn't care how his subconscious had come to this conclusion, but he was grateful. So grateful in fact, that he smiled at Raditz for the first time in reality or the afterlife.

Vegeta was just about to joyously thank his bumbling comrade for the epiphany, but Raditz fixed a disturbing look onto his prince. His eyes were completely black, lips twitching as he cocked his head jarringly.

“She is going to ruin you. Frieza will be jealous of the amount of suffering that she will put you through.” As those eerie words slipped from his mouth, Raditz began to quiver, blood spilling out onto the flawless white ground.

Vegeta quickly averted his gaze, resigned to how these hallucinations usually ended. He tried desperately to compose himself as he listened to Raditz’s pained cries and pleas for mercy.

This was no illusion; this was memory.

Raditz’s death would forever be seared into Vegeta’s mind, so much so that he remembered every detail, every labored breath, right down to the words forced from his mouth during the ordeal.

“Please, Lord Frieza! Give me one more chance! I can….. I can…… I…”

Vegeta mouthed along with the words his hallucination screamed, small tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He listened intently as Raditz’s breathing slowed, crawling to a stop, before the man inhaled one last shuddering time, Saiyan accent rolling off his tongue flawlessly.

“Ve’ji-taa.”

Raditz’s last word had been the name of his fallen monarch. A plea to save him from atrocity.

“I cannot save you,” the prince whispered into the air, saltwater pouring down his cheeks. “I cannot even save myself.”

The words slipped past his lips, evaporating into the stale air. Vegeta didn't bother to see if his hallucination had disappeared; he knew Raditz was gone forever.

Vegeta thought the absence would provide him with peace, but soon a creeping feeling that he was being watched began to wash over him. The paranoia became so overpowering that he whipped his head in the direction of the cell’s only glass window and what he saw there changed everything.

The blue eyes.

But this time they belonged to a face, pale as snow and perfect in texture. Strands of unruly azure hair jutted out in all directions, but her disheveled appearance did not negate her beauty.

The woman’s hands were pressed to the glass and her mouth was agape, lips trembling.

The prince couldn't look away.

His body was still reeling from the sedation but the drugs had not affected his ability to feel pure terror…… or heightened arousal.

* * *

 

 

Bulma was hyperventilating as dark eyes assessed her. She knew she should run- Frieza said the prince needed to be sedated at all times- but now he was awake and glaring at her.

Should she leave? Did this mean that Frieza was lying to them? It was such a small detail, but something wasn't sitting right with her. Even as her brain told her to walk away and forget what she saw, part of her wanted to know more.

If this man was as deadly and brutal as Frieza claimed and as she saw in the startling picture, why did his eyes not reflect such monstrosity? Why did she not believe what was being fed to her by a creature who was offering such generous hospitality?

Most notably, why had she dreamt of that piercing black gaze?

“He is beautiful, is he not?”

Bulma jumped back from the glass and turned to find Frieza watching from the dim doorway, backlit by the fluorescence from the hall. He approached slowly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she began, struggling to extricate herself from the delicate situation. “I was looking for-”

“Hush, now. Curiosity is natural for a scientist, Miss Briefs.” Frieza was standing directly in front of her now. Though he was shorter, it was her that felt intimidated. The creature glanced towards the prince’s cell momentarily, but Bulma didn't dare follow his gaze. “Now that you have observed the subject, you should have something to discuss when you meet with the others to begin the project tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes,” Bulma answered quickly, the image of Frieza killing the lizard who had slapped Goku springing into her mind. She knew when to lie. She knew how much deception played a role in survival.

Her heart was racing; she was certain he could hear her panic.

A smile passed over the creature’s face before a tongue darted out to wet his lips. “If you return to the dining hall, you will be directed to the bathing room and then to your freshly-prepared quarters. I do hope you enjoy your accommodations.”

“I will. Thank you….. Lord Frieza,” Bulma added, bowing slightly before walking towards the door. “This won't happen again.”

The clucking of a tongue gave her pause.

“I admire your tenacity, Miss Briefs, but be careful that it doesn't bleed over into stupidity, or your usefulness will be utilized in a different manner.”

“Yes, sir,” Bulma answered, her earlier stomachache returning to ravage her body for an entirely new reason.

“Excellent,” Frieza purred as she left him behind.

Her stomach clenched. That singular word was beginning to make her sick.


	5. (Papercut)

_Why does it feel like night today?_  
_Something in here's not right today._  
_Why am I so uptight today?_  
_Paranoia's all I got left._

* * *

 

Goku was waiting patiently when Bulma finally arrived back at the dining hall after her confrontation with Frieza.

Several lizards gave her curious looks, but otherwise they seemed uninterested in her earlier disappearance. The sudden freedom to do as she pleased was jarring, but it didn't lessen her suspicions or anxiety.

“Hey, where did you go? You missed dessert,” Goku exclaimed as she approached his table, which was covered with dirty plates.

Bulma glanced over to the lizards gathering the empty dishes from the tables. “I was…. taking a look around,” she whispered, not certain whether she wanted to share her doubts with him just yet.

Goku pursed his lips in concentration before breaking out in a toothy grin. “That sounds neat! We should do that later after we get settled in.”

She couldn't help it; Bulma gaped at his reaction, uncertain where his acceptance of the situation had come from. Earlier, he had been skeptical of his role in the “project” and now he was acting as if they were completely free.

“Goku, don't you think this is strange-”

Her concerns were interrupted by a lizard who was impatiently tapping his foot by the door. “You two! Time to bathe!”

Goku sprang to his feet and pulled Bulma along by the hand. “We get to stay together, right?” he asked the lizard. “I wanna make sure nothing happens to her.”

Though she figured something like this would happen, Bulma became instantly flustered at the thought of bathing with her friend around, but it was too late to refuse- they were being lead through the halls quickly.

The duo was directed to a large room with shower heads along on the walls, most of which were already running, a few leftover prisoners stripped down beneath them. The women began cursing and shouting when Goku entered and he slapped his hands over his eyes like a small boy.

“I'm sorry, ladies!” he exclaimed, bowing at his waist. “I just wanna make sure my friend is safe. I promise I won't peek!”

As if to demonstrate, he used one arm to blindly grope around until he found Bulma’s shoulder, fully intending on having her lead him around.

Every eye in the room turned toward her with malice.

“Uh…”

She really didn't know what to say. She didn't want to be blamed for Goku’s behavior, but she was also getting increasingly bothered by the sudden fortune she had fallen into. Only a short while ago she was a slave, working a mind-numbing job for the last eight years of her life, and now she was getting offered a free shower. Usually she had to wait the full two weeks of work to earn one, or try her hand at the fights late at night.

Not to mention that she had just been propositioned to torture the man who was responsible for her destroyed planet and murdered family. A man she wasn't entirely convinced was the source of her unease.

The entire situation was overwhelming in its intensity and Bulma was far too weak to fully process everything. She was filthy, tired, and still rattled by her conversation with Frieza.

To put it simply, she suddenly didn't care if her only friend wanted to tag along. They had stuck up for each when it counted, and now they shared some sort of strange bond.

“He's with me,” Bulma declared, throwing her head up in defiance while walking toward the back wall which held an assortment of towels and bottles. She noticed a pile of jumpsuits in the corner and began to undress. Goku let go of her shoulder, one hand still covering his eyes.

She looked around trying to figure out what to do with him.

“I'll face you towards the corner and then you can strip down and wash,” Bulma explained. “Don't peek, though.”

“I won't,” Goku assured, smiling below his hand. “None of them are as pretty as you anyway.”

Bulma paused at his words, her legs still tangled in the pantlegs of her jumpsuit. She opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it before undressing completely and then directing him towards the corner. She grabbed one of the bottles from the wall and put it in his free hand.

“Just wash up, I guess. Then shout or something when you need me,” she instructed, walking away to the opposite side of the room to find a faucet to stand under. She lathered up with the strange bottled soap, facing the wall and trying to ignore the hateful stares of the other women as they retrieved towels and soap from the cubby holes in the wall.

When she turned around to rinse her hair from the back, she made the mistake of opening her eyes, getting an eyeful of her naked “friend”.

Goku was being good and keeping his eyes closed, but Bulma felt like she was the perverted one. She swore under her breath as she took in his taut form, hands splayed on the wall while he ducked his head under the water to rinse his hair. He was tall, lean, and incredibly fit.

If he hadn't already made the connection between him and the imprisoned prince, then the similarities were now obvious. The muscle tone and definition his species was capable of was simply astounding. But while her friend did possess the same physique, dark eyes, and hair, it also seemed that they shared a violent past.

The prince’s body had been littered with scars, but Goku’s entire back was covered in a ghastly network of blossoming bruises, all in different stages of healing.

Bulma let the water cascade over her head as she pondered just what kind of slavery he had been forced into. Hard labor? Maybe he had been beaten for disobeying?

 _“I did mean things, but that's over now.”_  His strangled, drowsy voice was still in her head from the moment they had first met.

“I'm done!” Goku shouted suddenly, knocking Bulma out of her revelry.

She quickly finished rinsing her hair and retrieved two towels from the wall before handing one to her friend. He blindly dried himself off, and Bulma attempted to do the same, shutting her eyes and chastising herself for staring at him earlier. She had never cared about men before, so why start now?

Once they were both dry, she looked around for clothing, but the lizard standing guard at the front of the room beckoned them forward.

“Uh, I think we have to walk out of here naked,” Bulma observed, turning towards Goku sheepishly.

He grinned, hand over his eyes once more. “Lead the way.” This time he reached out to grab her hand, lacing their fingers together.

She wanted to pull away, to remind him just how dire their situation was and that there was no time for such silly trivial things like hand-holding or lop-sided grins, but Bulma still felt confusion cloud her judgement, so she let him guide her through the steamy room.

At the front, they were given jumpsuits made out of a slinky blue material and she pulled Goku aside to hand over his suit, which was much larger than her own. He faced the wall again as he changed, leaving Bulma to dress in the strange clothing. She worried about having no underwear, but the material seemed thicker and more supportive in the necessary places.

“What do you think?” Goku asked, turning towards her with a grin, eyes still shut. That royal blue suit was awfully tight and suddenly Bulma’s face was hot.

She let out a squeak at the sight, surprised at her sudden passiveness. She tried to respond once more, but strangely, her tongue wouldn't cooperate. So she grabbed him by the hand and returned to the lizard in charge.

“We’re ready to go now.”

* * *

 

Vegeta was still staring at the glass window of his cell when the pressurized door opened with a hiss. Normally, he would turn his head and snarl at the intruder, but he was much too weak and his attention still lingered on the mysterious woman.

She was real and she was here. His dreams- were they visions of the future? Was that even possible?

The smell of reptilian skin and vile saliva filled the air, but the prince didn't flinch.

“My, my, my,” Frieza drawled, entering the cell. “Even when I think I have you right where I want you, you still cause me trouble, Monkey.”

Vegeta scowled, eyes still lingering on the ghost image of the woman. “I was not aware that I was capable of wrongdoing while under the influence of drugs.”

The creature’s advance halted. There was a soft cracking of knuckles.

“Such a smart, quick mouth. It will serve you well when you rule by my side,” Frieza declared. “That is, if you can pass my test.”

Vegeta knew the creature was toying with him, just like Raditz’s image had reminded him, but it was not in his nature to give up. He may be fine with death at the hands of the twisted creature, but only after he put up a good fight. Only after he knew it was his choice to either give up or push forward.

The Prince of Saiyans would not die silently.

“I can pass,” Vegeta stated coolly. After a few moments of silence, he turned his head towards his guest.

Frieza loomed over him, hands grasped behind his back before the warlord let out a frustrated sigh and straddled the prince’s waist. He leaned his muscular, white body down until he was inches away from Vegeta’s face. “Did you like what you saw, Monkey?” he inquired, running a finger over the hollow of the prince’s corded neck.

Vegeta didn't need to ask for an explanation; he knew exactly what the creature was speaking of.

“Does it matter?” he spat, staring into the blood-red eyes of the warlord. Frieza scratched his throat harshly, but the prince didn't flinch.

“It will if things do not go according to plan,” the creature explained, cocking his head and giving Vegeta a grin that showcased a multitude of tiny sharp teeth. “I am curious though. For years after your maturity, I tried to help you deal with the changes of your body, but unlike Nappa or Raditz, you wanted nothing to do with the whores I found. So why did one glance get you so riled up?”

“I am not-” Vegeta tried to protest, but a hand was suddenly palming him through his tight briefs and the prince’s body went slack.

Frieza whistled through his teeth. “Your body tells a different story.”

The hand was removed but Vegeta found that all the curses he wanted to spew were stuck in his spasming throat.

The creature was right. The prince was now aware that he was painfully aroused and the sensation was absolutely terrifying. He wanted to blame the reaction on the potent dream, but he hadn't reacted in such a way when he was paralyzed and feeling her touch. It was only the moment Vegeta saw her face that it occurred.

Perhaps all his mind needed was something physical to associate the pleasure with before reality set in. But that didn't change the fact that Frieza knew of this new weakness, and the way his beady eyes were watching the prince with obvious mischief greatly disturbed him.

“Who is she?” Vegeta asked despite his better judgement. He knew that every moment their conversation lingered on the woman was damning for him, but he desperately needed to know why she was haunting his dreams.

Above him, Frieza adjusted his position until the creature was sitting upright once more, squeezing the prince’s waist with strong, white thighs. “I get bored, Monkey, and I decided to find myself some company,” he explained casually, as if it was obvious.

So she was the warlord’s mistress.

Of course, the sick bastard had always taken an interest in exotic species unlike his own. Vegeta still tried desperately to shake the memory of the first time Frieza had propositioned _him_  one night when the creature had too much of his sweet wine. Thankfully, it never happened again and the prince became a warrior puppet rather than something else entirely.

“She just arrived, hence her appearance, but she will soon become accustomed to what I require,” Frieza declared, grinning devilishly.

Gritting his teeth, Vegeta looked away. He didn't understand why the warlord’s words bothered him, but the way he spoke of the woman made his blood boil. It was just another weakness that he was revealing to the wretched creature and it needed to stop.

He was a fucking warrior. He lived to overcome, to be fearless and conquer the battlefield. No amount of tests or strange dreams would change that.

Fuck Raditz’s warning.

Fuck the conflicted feelings whenever he recalled his dream and fuck the way the woman had stared into his soul.

“Does this fact bother you, Monkey?” Frieza inquired sweetly.

Vegeta pushed every ounce of emotion in his body down until he could feel his irrational feelings drowning. It was difficult to do, and it left lingering, burning traces on his psyche, but it was a technique he learned at a young age to cope with his trauma.

It was easier to kill in cold blood when you had no soul to stain.

_”Why can I not just kill him with a ki blast, Lord Frieza?”_

_“Because, my little prince, you cannot be so merciful to your enemies. There you go, dig into his flesh. Feel the hot blood rush over your hands. There, does that not feel good?”_

_“He is screaming so loudly…”_

Vegeta felt himself become hollow, unthinking. The world around became duller, the air less fragrant, the light less bright. “No, it does not bother me,” he answered in an unaffected monotone.

“Excellent,” Frieza cheered, removing himself from the prince’s waist.

The creature stood over Vegeta for a few moments until the door hissed open again, letting in several of the guards. One of them was carrying a small tray and the prince tensed up minutely, knowing what was about to happen.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to make his escape now, to kill the foul creature, but he knew his limitations. He had a plan, and he had to stick with it until he was certain he could finally embody his people’s greatest legend.

Frieza plucked a syringe from the tray and squirted a tiny amount of liquid from the top. “I apologize, Vegeta, but this is just precautionary while I prepare your test in the coming days. You need to rest.”

The prince didn't respond when he was injected in his stiff neck, nor did he flinch when the warlord gave him a soft kiss on the lips. He was void of feeling- an empty shell with only one pervading thought coursing through his mind: victory.

His facade remained perfect in its defiance, until Frieza paused by the doorway to deliver one final statement.

“I would visit you later, prince, but my bed is being warmed tonight and I do not want to neglect my new prize. Her blue eyes are simply exquisite.”

Vegeta’s armor cracked then, just as Frieza slipped through the doorway laughing.

* * *

 

Bulma took in her surroundings dubiously, uncertain about how she should feel about the offered arrangements.

The walls were the same blinding white as the corridors and every article of furniture was sleek and rounded.

“There's two beds,” she observed, turning to the lizard that had brought the two captives from the bathing room.

“Lord Frieza ordered us to keep you two together,” the guard stated, seemingly annoyed with the question. He glanced up and down the long hall and sighed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to. Instructions for your daily schedule will appear on the wall.”

The lizard pointed to a large screen set into the wall between the two beds then left the earthlings to their own devices.

“Cool! We’re roommates,” Goku exclaimed, plopping himself onto the bed at the right of the room. His hair was still damp, sagging down his usual wild spikes and making him look even younger than Bulma thought possible. Rogue tendrils of black stuck to his face in random places and he ran his hand through his hair repeatedly while groping the mattress with his other hand. “This is pretty soft,” he murmured, entranced by the bed.

Bulma turned away from the sight to survey the room completely. It looked harmless enough- two beds, one small table, and a closet. The beds were dressed with white linens and there was a basket in the corner of the room for what she assumed was laundry.

After the short tour, she gave in and decided to crawl onto her bed to give it a once-over. Her friend had definitely been right about the comfort; the bed was the softest she had slept on since her abduction and it was much larger than the small cots she had been offered in slavery.

She ran her hands over the smooth fabric on top, still in disbelief over her situation. Everything seemed so surreal, yet part of her wanted to believe. Part of her remembered the fairy tales of her childhood and couldn't help but draw comparisons to those stories.

A poor orphaned girl living in misery who gets the opportunity to better her life and live in luxury. She would make new friends who taught her important lessons and a prince who admired her for her beauty but loved her for her heart.

Bulma looked up during her musings to find Goku lazing back on his bed, eyes shut while happily humming to himself. He seemed so content and peaceful, as if he were resigned to this new life before it had even started.

She smiled.

She had met a friend here, just like in the stories. He had already taught her the lesson of standing up for each other even in the face of uncertainty.

She had also met a prince, but Bulma had the nagging feeling that he wouldn't dash in valiantly and save her. In fact, after the “project” started, he would be the one in need of saving, but he deserved the pain….. or so she was told.

Goku opened his eyes to find her staring at him intensely. She tried to correct herself and look busy with feeling up the bed, but her friend had noticed her pensive stare.

“What's wrong?” he inquired gently, sitting up to perch himself on the edge of his mattress. “Does it bother you that I'm in the same room?”

Bulma wanted to laugh at his question, but she had the feeling that he would take it the wrong way. She didn't mind his presence; after all, she had been forced into a tiny cell with a dozen other women before. She could handle one child-like man.

“No, it's just-” she cut herself off, still debating about whether or not she should let him in on her apprehension. She desperately wanted to bring up Frieza, all the inconsistencies of his claims, and what she had seen of the prince, but something stopped her.

“I won't touch you or anything.” Goku’s voice was small, strangled.

Bulma looked up from her hands on the bedsheets. “What?”

Her friend’s cheerful composure had evaporated completely, replaced by a blank expression with hollow black eyes. His pallor had turned pale and he was fisting the edge of the mattress, knuckles white.

“If you're worried about me touching you while you're sleeping, I won't,” he clarified awkwardly. “Girls don't like it when you touch them in places without permission.”

Bulma was stunned at her friend’s sudden change in demeanor as well as his disturbing words. He still spoke as a child, with vague understanding, but the undercurrent made her uncomfortable.

For the first time since they had met, Bulma felt unsafe with him. She stared at him for some time, her mouth failing to reply as her mind worked over what her options were if he did try to force himself on her.

She had never been touched in such a manner, though many of the women she had met in slavery had been raped or assaulted numerous times. One of her masters had threatened her with such actions once, but he was concerned that breaking her like that would ruin her productivity.

The few heartbeats of silence turned into minutes and eventually, Goku gave up and wrapped himself in his sheets. The lights above them dimmed and Bulma didn't question who turned them off or if she had any control; she followed her roommate’s actions and tried to rest, but no relief came.

Every sound in the night was the lizards coming to get her. Every creak of Goku’s bed was him approaching her with bad intentions.

She tossed restlessly, thoughts pouring through her mind at incredible speed. At one point, she swore she fell into a crazed half-sleep, aware of her body oriented in the bed but dreaming of dark eyes that followed her every movement as she wandered around the building.

She was exhausted by the time the lights flickered on again, and a loud buzzing came from the wall screen.

Goku crawled out of bed to check the message and told her that the project meeting was starting soon and which room it was taking place in. Without another word more, he fluffed his hair and pulled on a pair of boots he found in the closet before leaving.

Bulma almost felt bad for upsetting him, then she remembered the strange words he had spoken and resolved herself to stay careful and aware. The discomfort with her new friend would only serve to remind her that she could only trust herself.

Groggily, she found a pair of boots for her in the closet, then slipped out of the door into the awaiting hall. She saw the other captives shuffling down a corridor, so she followed them until they reached their destination.

Once the door came into view, she swore under her breath and her stomach tightened. This was the room Frieza had caught her in the day before. The room overlooking the prince’s cell.

She followed the others inside with great hesitation, finding the room well-lit and filled with a large round table. Several of the seats were filled already, but a closer look revealed what appeared to be files of papers set in front of each place.

Curious, she circled the table until she found a file marked **Bulma Briefs- Technology**.

She took a seat and flipped open the file, scanning the papers with greedy eyes. Frieza had assembled specifications of the prince, giving great detail of his physical limitations as well as his known relevant mannerisms and behaviors. The report was so detailed that Bulma was instantly fascinated, absorbing every word as if it were water.

A shift to her right interrupted her reading and she looked up to find Goku sitting himself down less than gracefully.

“Hi.”

He grinned at her and slapped his large hands on the file in front of him. He had rolled his sleeves up to his mid-arm and Bulma noticed some bruising around his elbow joint.

“Goku,” she whispered, earning his attention. His eyes were heavy and dilated and he couldn't stop grinning.

Bulma recoiled before scooting in closer to her friend for an explanation. “Did they inject you with something again?”

Goku frowned at her question before looking down at his arms. “Oh yeah, they did. They had to though. My old masters did it because I would…” the man trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he looked around the room. “Oh, I think it's starting!” he exclaimed with a sloppy grin.

Bulma watched the scene play out, incredulous. Why would they need to inject him again? He had already agreed to participate in the project. Why drug him?

She didn't get much time to ponder the quickly escalating oddities of her friend because Frieza walked to the front where the window to the prince’s cell was and cleared his throat.

Silence engulfed the room and everyone waited intently for the creature to speak.

“I hope I gave you enough time to look over the materials, but we must start promptly,” he declared. “First, I want to hear your preliminary thoughts on the matter.”

The next several minutes were filled with questions from the captives about what exactly was required of them and Frieza’s careful replies only heightened Bulma’s anxiety.

The more that was spoken, the clearer it became that Frieza was asking them to get as sadistic as possible in regards to torture, and to her horror, several of her new “team members” seemed delighted at the idea.

The topic quickly turned to the first step in the plan and Bulma listened intently as the blonde man who had so boldly questioned Frieza the day before outlined several suggestions.

“Well, from what I've read in the file, the subject is inherently vain and prideful of his brute strength,” the man relayed. “It won't be enough to physically break him down; he will be able to compensate for his limitations almost immediately.”

Frieza smiled at the young man’s observation. “Very good, Jeru. Your intellect has not suffered in captivity, I see. Please elaborate further.”

“I think we should start out with the basics- rationing his food, sleep deprivation…. things like that,” Jeru explained apathetically. “That should lure him into a false state of survival. His mental strength will be artificially high and then we can move onto stage two.”

“And what would you suggest we do to combat his mental strength?” Frieza queried, leaning up against the window.

“It's simple,” Jeru boldly declared. “We get him into a routine and then we gaslight him.”

“Gaslight?” Bulma questioned before she thought better of it.

Jeru rolled his eyes and scoffed at her ignorance. “You were a slave. Don't tell me that you haven't been gaslit before.”

When she didn't respond and neither did any of the other project members, the blonde man let out a boisterous laugh, one which Frieza seemed to appreciate.

“We make him doubt his sanity and question basic principles of reality,” the creature clarified, amused. “Right now, up is up and down is down, but we will make it not so.”

“But why?” Bulma fired back, eyeing Jeru intently. Something about the humanoid man didn't set right with her- he was way too eager to comply with this inhumanity.

Frieza pushed himself away from the glass window and pursed his lips. “Bulma, come here.”

At the sound of her name, she jumped in her seat, her mouth suddenly going dry. She knew better than to decline, so she stood and brushed past Goku who was looking at her with a faraway, slack expression.

Once she was at the window, she swallowed hard and looked to Frieza for direction.

The creature offered a curt nod and narrowed eyes. “Tell me what you see.”

Bulma looked into the prince’s cell with trepidation. “He’s sleeping,” she confirmed with a shaky voice. “But he’s under sedation, most likely.”

“Correct, but you are relying on surface information,” Frieza chastised. “What is there to be learned by analytical observation?”

Bulma sucked in a breath and tried once more. “He is…. incredibly physically strong. His musculature suggests some sort of ability to convert energy into fibrous, dense tissue on a level other than caloric. Because of that…. you will need some sort of metal alloy that absorbs energy to contain him.”

Frieza let out a pleased hum and Bulma turned to find him staring curiously at her with imploring eyes. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, but she didn't dare look away. She felt trapped by his presence, just as she had the day before.

“My, it is not often that I am impressed, but I am beginning to find you on that frontier, Miss Briefs,” Frieza stated, inclining his head towards the window. “And here I was informed that your talent was only limited to technology, but I am delighted that my earlier suspicion was confirmed. You know much more than you let on.”

Bulma blinked away her anxiety and took another deep breath. “My intellect hasn't suffered in captivity either,” she quipped, surprising herself with the candor. It seemed the lack of sleep was working wonders for her suppressed brash nature.

Behind her, several of the other project members whispered, their urgent hushed tone setting Bulma on edge. It occurred to her in that moment how much she was setting herself apart from the others brought here and that it wasn't necessarily a good thing.

“You didn't answer my question,” she blurted out, squaring her shoulders. “I asked why we needed to make him insane and you didn't give an answer.”

Frieza seemed off put by her questioning, but his shock soon dissolved into amusement. “In all honesty, I assumed you would come to a conclusion yourself, but you speak as a being that has never been broken.” He stepped closer to her and when she tried to move, he stilled her with a strong hand on her waist. “Now, think harder. Why would such a specimen need to be stripped down to nothing but flawed self-perception? Why not beat or maim him until he is sufficiently disheartened?”

With a gasp, Bulma tried to squirm away from the creature’s hold, but he would not let her go. The others watched the struggle in silence and she looked frantically around for any source of help, but everyone remained seated. Even Goku looked bored, resting his head on his propped up elbow, his eyes threatening to close.

“I don't know,” Bulma answered, quivering slightly in Frieza’s hold. “I-I don't understand…. Why would you want to do something so…. sick? You could just kill him.”

She was speaking quickly, her mind regurgitating her repulsion like sour vomit, but she couldn't stop it. She was dangling precariously on the edge of understanding, of seeing the darkness this creature was trying to create, but she wasn't quite there yet. She just couldn't comprehend.

Frieza cocked his head and laughed, releasing his hold on her waist. “Ah, but you understand far better than you could possibly imagine. Just give it time, my dear Bulma.”

The way he used her name made her skin crawl and her fingers twitched with the effort of not scratching his words off of her, but before she could react, he was calling the meeting to a close.

“That is all for today. We shall resume tomorrow. Breakfast will be served shortly.”

She numbly watched the others shuffle out the door and Frieza didn't pay her any mind as he sauntered away, leaving her alone with Goku, who was resting his head on the table’s glossy surface.

With hesitation, Bulma went to check on her friend, gently pulling up by his head to find his eyes fluttering in his skull and a disturbing grin on his face.

“Kami! Goku?”

“Oh, I don't feel so good,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “They gave me too much! Please no more…… don't make me do it again.”

Stepping away from Goku, Bulma began to hyperventilate.

Frieza was right.

She did know more than she let on, but she couldn't explain how. She just knew that something was terribly wrong.

Perhaps it was the dream in which the prince’s eyes appeared before she even knew he existed, or maybe it was all the little things she had noticed during her short time under her new master.

The hollow quality to the other lizard’s eyes.

The offer of freedom that seemed to be good to be true.

Goku’s disconcerting words hidden behind boyish naiveté.

Frieza’s vague explanations.

The eagerness of the others to accept the torture of another being with little knowledge as to why.

She watched Goku struggle against the drugs in his system, his pained whimpering filling up the room with excruciating noise. Several lizards rushed into the room, coming to her friend’s attention, but Bulma backed away from the scene until her back hit a wall.

Her hands slid along the smooth surface, searching for something to grasp onto as her world spun violently. Blood rushed in her ears, barely drowning out Goku’s screams, and it was then that her eyes darted over to the prince’s cell.

As if entranced, she pushed away from the wall and stepped up to the window, silently begging the unconscious man to sit up and give her an indication of what she should do.

She desperately wanted him to prove that he was a primal, murderous man that needed to be punished or yell at her to leave, to run as far away from this deceptive trap.

Any inkling of the truth would do.

The prince didn't move.

Goku kept screaming.

Nothing made sense.

Bulma made a decision.

She needed to get out as quickly possible or else it would be her sanity that would suffer greatly.

The truth was suddenly irrelevant.

Now all that she required was an opportunity.

 


	6. (Cherry Waves)

_In a sea of waves,_   
_we hug the same plank._   
_Just as I had rehearsed it over in my brain-_   
_(I saw your end)._

* * *

 

“I'm sorry if I scared you. You know, the day we got our room.”

Bulma looked up from her work soldering metal and looked over to Goku, who was currently testing out the cuff restraints she was making for the prince. He smiled at her sheepishly, bare-chested as he sat on the examination table in the lab Bulma had been provided.

When she didn't reply, Goku flexed his arms and the metal warped around his hands. “Sorry,” he apologized, but Bulma swiveled back to her desk and turned off the soldering iron.

“So you have the same ability to manipulate energy like he does,” she observed. “That's the fifth attempt that has failed, even with the new alloy Frieza found.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don't want to ruin your work, but I thought you would want to do the best you can,” Goku explained, his voice laced with pain and discomfort.

It had been a week since the day of the first project meeting. A week for Bulma to analyze every detail of her situation, only to realize that her chances for escaping were slim to non-existent.

Many of those nights she had spent lying in bed, berating herself for giving up until she reignited her determination for the next day. She would throw off her blankets come morning, stumble past Goku rolled up in his sheets, and begin their strict daily routine.

Every morning began with a project meeting followed by breakfast, then finally observation of the prince while their methods were applied.

So far, they had begun to ration his food systematically and noting the results. He was kept partially sedated the first few days, but as his food supply dwindled, he began to remain stationary in his cell, staring at the wall with a fierce look of determination.

Next in the day came lunch, and after, lab time to work on their various roles. Showers could be taken prior to dinner or afterward, but either way, the captives had a small amount of free time to do as they pleased in their quarters.

Bulma had tried to use this time to plan her escape, and each day her resolve was crushed when she put the pieces together- there was a large amount of lizard guards always on rotation and she lacked information regarding her location or the planet she was on, as well as piloting skills even if she did manage to reach a ship.

Day by day, she was wearing down and she didn't have anyone to talk to about her torment. Goku had only started talking to her again after day three, but she rarely saw him anyway. When he wasn't testing out her designs, the lizards took him away to what he called “the compound” where they performed a bunch of physical tests on him and let him exercise.

He seemed happy about the arrangements and _never_  mentioned the fact that he had nearly overdosed on whatever drug the lizards constantly injected him with.

Bulma wanted to ask him what the entire incident was about, but that night after they had stabilized his reaction, he became extremely distraught and cried in his bed. When Goku finally fell asleep, he whispered things that Bulma would never be able to get out of her head for as long as she lived- things that his old masters made him do.

The trauma obviously brought out severe anxiety and this was probably the reason the lizards administered the drug to her friend. Bulma was focused on her own well-being, but her roommate’s distress did stop her from prying into his past.

“You don't want to be friends anymore,” Goku declared suddenly, his voice echoing off the laboratory walls. “That's fine. I scared you, so I guess I understand.”

With a heavy sigh, Bulma swiveled her chair around and looked at the man with heavy eyes. Her breath caught in her chest, but she pushed past the discomfort. “I do want to be your friend, but I… I’m afraid of getting too close to someone in case something was to…. change,” she explained carefully. She still didn't trust him enough to tell him that she was planning to run.

Goku hopped off the table and retrieved his shirt from her desk. The lizards had given him different clothes than the others because of his rigorous physical activities. Now he was always clad in stretchy black pants and a tight-fitting white shirt with the PTO symbol emblazoned on it.

“You hear what I say in my sleep, don't you?” he inquired, lingering by her side. His eyes were downcast and he pursed his lips. “I've been told that it can be pretty bad sometimes….”

Bulma nodded but didn't dare speak. What could she say to that? He was the most vulnerable at night and it didn't seem right to comment on his trauma.

“I didn't like what I did to those girls,” Goku stated, bringing his hazy eyes up to her. “My masters made me do it and said that they would kill the girls if I didn't touch them. If I didn't make them…. enjoy it.”

“Goku, you don't have to talk about it,” Bulma offered, uncomfortable with the conversation now that he was admitting what she had long feared.

Her friend forced his gaze away, fists clenching in anger. “Does that make me like him?” he blurted out, voice cracking as tears threatened to fall from his large dark eyes. “Does that make me just as bad as the prince? Do I deserve what we're doing to him too? We’re already alike….”

Bulma was at a loss for words. Of course Goku didn't deserve such torment but she couldn't reason with him. If she used the logic that his actions were justified because he was being forced into it, then what they were doing fell into that same logic and she simply couldn't believe that.

What they were doing was just as terrible as what the prince or any other murderer had done.

All of the reasoning was just vague justifications for atrocious actions. A circle of pain and guilt that propelled each of them to commit crimes against themselves and others.

“I'm not ok with all of this,” Goku clarified, playing with a stack of papers on the edge of Bulma’s desk. “I was so sure Frieza was going to use me like my masters, but when he just asked me to help out….. I dunno, it just seems better than what I'm used to.”

Bulma reached out and stilled her friend’s hand. He looked at her with sad, heavy eyes and she felt her throat tighten. “I know what you're trying to say, but what happens when this is all over?” she inquired. “You have nightmares about the things that you used to do, but how do you know you won't regret this later?”

Pulling his hand away, Goku laughed softly. “I don't think it works like that, Bulma. I've been gone from earth for a long time and I’ve seen enough to know that you either choose one bad thing or another. It's just the way it is….”

It was possibly the most aware, mature thing her friend had said to date, but it greatly saddened Bulma. She hadn't known him for very long, but she recalled his early helpfulness and joy despite their captivity. She now knew it was his way of coping, but she had a feeling that it was also a glimpse of his true self- the man he was supposed to be.

The hope that both of them could be salvaged was the spark that pushed her forward once more. Not out of terror or despair, but out of necessity. The two of them were like rare flowers struggling to bloom amongst a wasteland of metal and stone. Like the beautiful gardens her mother once cultivated in the heart of West City.

Bulma could still remember the difficulty of achieving such a thing. Everything wanted to kill the fragile plants- the toxic air, the harsh sunlight, and the trash that attempted to smother.

“Goku?”

The man glanced over at her, eyes wide and expectant.

“I still want to be friends with you, but we can't just stay here and do what he says. We can't become like him,” Bulma declared, gaze firm and pleading.

Goku nodded minutely, pushing away from the desk to approach her. She stood up from her chair, letting him come to her until they both stood within inches of each other, silence stretched between them like a lifeline.

She desperately hoped that he understood what she was insinuating and that his meek nature wouldn't inhibit her plans. She may be up against incredible odds, but perhaps they could succeed at escaping together.

The two watched each other curiously, and despite the tender moment, Bulma was growing impatient. The longer they waited to form a plan, the deeper they would fall into Frieza’s hole.

“We need to-”

Her attempt at initiating conversation on the subject was thwarted when Goku bridged the gap between them. His touch was gentle, soft in its caress as his large hand nearly enveloped the side of her face. She sucked in a breath at the contact, and her friend immediately pulled his hand away, but she grabbed his wrist.

“It's ok,” Bulma murmured, mesmerized by how strange it felt to be touched in such a manner. She couldn't remember the last time she had; she was certain only her parents had been so intimate.

Goku seem startled that she caught his arm, but he leaned toward her regardless. “Can I?” he asked, pulling out of her hold slowly and bringing his hand back to her face.

She knew he was asking to touch her face once more, just a simple gesture, but for some reason, it felt like he was asking for much more. More than she really had to give, but a part of her screamed to trust him, to let go in order to finally form a connection with someone in order to save her life.

Bulma nodded and a second later, they were skin to skin once more, his hand burning her cheek but the heat was welcome, secure. It was as if Goku was grounding her amidst the chaos.

She desperately needed such a thing.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Bulma focused on the feeling and the way he shifted his touch. His thumb came to her lips, gently brushing over her mouth with delicate little strokes. She shuddered, lips trembling against his flesh. When she finally opened her eyes, Goku was staring at her mouth, his thumb falling away. His face was flushed, and heat was radiating off of him.

“What should we do?” he asked, eyes flicking up to hers. Behind him, his tail was waving slowly, but he wrapped it around his waist once more.

Bulma let out a breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding. “We need to find a way out first. Explore the building without drawing attention.”

His hand fell away and Goku turned back to the desk to fiddle with a pencil. “I can try to distract them or something,” he suggested. “They all seem worried about me anytime I move too fast. I think they're scared of me.”

“Can you pretend to have a reaction at dinner?”

She knew it was a lot to ask of him, but Bulma had thought this over in her bed at night. The last time she had free reign to look around was during their first dinner when Goku had clumsily knocked over a table. The final meal of the day, most of the lizards seemed to congregate in the dining hall, expecting to watch over the captives all at once.

If she could just determine a possible exit strategy and any obstacles in their way, they could start forming a plan. If needed, they could space out her explorations over days or weeks until a path was certain.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

Goku nodded before exiting the lab, already late for his physical “training” with the lizards. She watched her friend leave, apprehension bubbling in her gut.

The rest of the day was spent half-heartedly working on the designs for the cuff restraints and Bulma mulled over the likelihood that she would get caught and what she would say.

Before she knew it, dinner had arrived and she made her way to the dining hall with her stomach in her throat. As she walked, she decided which corridors she would dare to explore that night and after some consideration, settled on a wing of the building anyone rarely came from.

Mealtime seemed to draw out as Bulma barely tasted her food. Out of her peripheral, she watched the lizards laugh and mingle in the corner of the room. When a large number of them seemed complacent in their socializing, she turned to Goku and nodded.

He seemed to take the hint, rising to his feet before affecting a stumbling gait and approaching the lizards.

Bulma squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath. She desperately hoped that her friend could act out his role and be convincing, but she was reminded of the things he whispered at night. The words bounced around in her head- repeatings of instructions given to him in anger.

" _Smile, boy! Moan like you mean it.”_

_“Act like you like this or else I'll give her something to like if you can't do it!”_

Moments later, she heard the commotion as Goku started rambling ad crashed into something. Bulma snapped her head up to see the lizards rush to his attention and just like the time before, she slipped out of the door slowly, making a sharp turn down the corridor.

She stuck to the sides of the hall, testing doors as she went in case some guards were coming her way. Should she feel threatened, she would slip into the nearest room and hope it was empty, but Bulma knew the risk that she was taking with her half-assed attempt at exploration.

This needed to be done, but it didn't make her feel less impotent.

She made it through several corridors, noting the signs on the wall and the distinguishing landmarks. Several times, she heard voices echoing up the hall, and she flattened herself into nooks along the wall, only for groups of lizards to pass by unaware in intersecting corridors.

By the time Bulma made it deep into the unknown wing, she was feeling apprehensive about just how lucky she was to not come across any guards directly. Surely her luck would run out at some point. It couldn't be this easy….

The air became thinner and the scent more metallic- the telltale signs that a docking bay was near by, but she was still far away from any recognizable exit. She also took note of the posters plastered on the walls- reminders to grab the appropriate gear before embarking out onto the planet’s surface.

One particular sign caught her attention and Bulma scoured the information on it, trying to absorb every detail. It was a rough directory of the building, outlining the wings and several of the designated areas. It appeared that she hadn't made it to where the aircraft were housed, but rather the cargo bay and something called “experimental development”.

Just as she was reciting the map back to herself, she noticed a strange section indicating that there was more than one floor to the building. In fact, it seemed there were several despite her never seeing a set of stairs or an elevator.

Bulma squinted, rising on her toes to get a better look at the corner of the sign.

**_Intergalactic prisoners are held on floors DETA through PETA. Use exits 9A and 10A to enter prison facility after proper clearance._ **

Prison? They were living and working above a prison?

Sure, the prince was a prisoner, but somehow Bulma had assumed the man was the exception, not the norm. Frieza had never mentioned such thing…. or did he?

As Bulma scrutinized every moment since she was brought there, she heard shouts echoing up the corridor.

“How could she have gotten so far?”

“Shut the fuck up and just find her!”

Panicked, Bulma launched herself at the first door in sight, intending on hiding inside until she could sneak back to her quarters later on. To her dismay, it was locked and she moved on to the next, finding that one locked as well.

She cursed, flinging herself to the other side of the hall and trying her luck with the doors there. Thankfully, her first attempt was successful and she stumbled into a dark room and immediately fell to the floor, groping for something to hide behind- a piece of furniture, a box, anything.

It was nearly pitch black save for a strange red glow along the entirety of the back wall, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Bulma crawled in that direction, pushing herself against the red wall.

With bated breath, she listened for any sign that the lizards were checking rooms, and after what seemed like hours, silence fell upon her ears. Shaking, she pushed along the wall to rise to her feet.

To her horror, her hand pressed against something and a loud pressurized hiss rang throughout the room.

She had unknowingly triggered something, and as her mind wrapped around the reality, the lights above flickered on, temporarily blinding her.

Falling back with her hand covering her eyes, Bulma heard the sound of water sloshing, trickling softly among mechanical whirs and steady beeping. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she was terrified that the lizards would hear the commotion, but no one rushed through the door.

Instead, Bulma was left on the ground, waiting for her eyes to adjust while trying to suck in deep breaths.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her grave mistake.

She had been so concerned about running into the lizards that she had failed to avoid another kind of monster.

Before her vision was a tank being drained of its blood-red liquid, and standing in the middle was the nude, rippling form of Prince Vegeta, caged like a wild animal.

* * *

 

Consciousness flooded back into his system, bringing with it a rush of sensation.

First, and perhaps the most notable, was the feeling of liquid sloshing around his hyper-sensitive skin. Next was the familiar screeching of a regeneration tank draining its contents.

Vegeta groaned as the weightlessness that being immersed in liquid brought faded away and his bare feet hit the metal floor with a thud. The action jarred him, causing his arms to cling to the glass walls instinctively. As soon as he moved, his body protested, his muscles trying in vain to clench despite exhaustion. His head swam, eyes fluttered open to find blackness in stark contrast to the soft glow of the tank.

His knees threatened to buckle, but the prince threw his body into the glass, using the slightly curved surface to lean his weight upon. Frustrated, he ripped off the ventilation mask and tried to collect his breath.

How the fuck did he get here?

He remembered being in his cell for several days, waking up periodically to eat or piss in a bucket. The days were getting long, blurring into each other with no way of knowing whether it was morning or night. Vegeta was aware that he was being watched, but the window of his cell had become dark, obscuring his view to the outside. But he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched; there was undoubtedly someone on the other side.

Most likely the culprit was Frieza, planning his death. It didn't escape the prince’s notice that his meals were becoming smaller and smaller, but Vegeta was determined to overcome such basic attempts at weakening him. He began to reserve as much energy as possible while mentally preparing himself for the worst possible scenarios for his “test”.

Everything had gone well more or less, that is until one instance when his food was brought and placed across the cell, forcing the prince to move in order to retrieve it.

He must've stood up too quickly and passed out because that's the last thing he recalled before waking in the present moment.

The lights flickered on above Vegeta, the long bulbs warming up with a humming sound that pricked his ears even through the tank. The sudden illumination filled the room and despite the burning of his weary eyes, the prince felt them widen impossibly.

Lying on the ground outside the tank was the woman with the blue eyes.

_Her._

Had she awakened him? For what purpose?

She was nothing more than Frieza’s whore. The sick creature would never let a possession out of his sight and thus her presence was peculiar.

Vegeta watched curiously as she whimpered, shielding her face from the light, but then she finally looked up, only for the color to drain completely out of her face as she caught sight of him.

The woman let out the beginnings of a scream but quickly slapped her small hands over her mouth before glancing toward the door in panic.

It seemed his guest didn't want to be found.

The realization should've amused the prince, but it only angered him further.

Was this his dream playing out in lucid fashion?

Was the mistress of his sadistic master here to get her enjoyment out of him as well? Knowing the sick company Frieza liked to keep, it was a distinct possibility.

Anger bubbled to the surface, breaking through his weak body. Adrenaline was flushed through his veins and Vegeta threw open the tank latch before stumbling out into the cool air.

He had so many questions about the blue-eyed woman that had invaded his dreams and subsequently his life, and he was not about to let her go without an understanding.

The object of his fury noticed his approach and began feverishly scrambling to her feet, lunging toward the door in desperation. Though she was frightened, she bit back any sounds of terror and the action piqued Vegeta’s curiosity.

Just as she dove for the exit, the prince caught her ankle and pulled the woman back roughly, sliding her small form along her back until he could pin her down beneath him.

Liquid crested over his bulging physique and dripped from his hair onto the floor, and Vegeta watched as several drops landed on her forehead, stark against her creamy flesh. He swore at the color.

It was blood-red, indicating that the liquid was not regenerative, but used for stabilizing patients on a cellular level. It held no nutritional content and merely kept the subject alive. It figured that Frieza wouldn't spare him any comfort when he was working so hard to weaken him.

Beneath the prince, the woman trembled violently, her eyes darting over every bare inch of him. Her skin flushed red and she swallowed hard, averting her eyes. She was pushing on him, but weakly, as if she was afraid to incite his wrath.

This was unexpected as well. Frieza was not known to seduce his women. They were nothing but servants to him and they were expected to perform their duties without reluctance. But this woman was refusing his presence, even minutely.

Vegeta took note of this as he assessed her carefully.

Her blue eyes were clearer than those in his dream and far more captivating now that he was viewing her so close and not through the thick glass of his cell window.

“Please don't,” the woman whimpered, hands flexing on his shoulders as she hesitated to attack him. She glanced towards the door but then faced him once more.

It seemed that she would rather be in his path than alert anyone to her location.

The action made the prince instantly suspicious and he wondered whether Frieza was testing him- baiting him with the woman. The foul creature was always looking for an excuse to humiliate him and footage of Vegeta being tortured by a small bitch would make good fodder for ridicule. He looked around the room, noting the lack of cameras that the warlord was fond off.

If the walls did not house surveillance devices, then there was only one other option.

The woman jumped when he began to feel up her body, searching for any device used to record his words or actions. The prince started with inspecting her torso despite the tight-fitting suit. Such devices were often small in nature and he had found them creatively placed on several enemies before.

Silently, Vegeta ran his hands over her stomach and the soft curves of her chest, assessing the discomfort on her face. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, but he thought nothing of it.

Whores could cry upon a whim.

He then checked her arms and ran over her long legs, pausing between her thighs. His hands rested on the flesh of her inner thighs and she began to shake.

Part of the prince assumed that she was nervous that he would find the device in this area, but another part toyed with the idea that she had never been touched in this manner.

But given her job, it was highly unlikely.

The woman tried to squeeze her legs together, guarding herself, but Vegeta forced her thighs open once more. She swallowed a wail and his curiosity overwhelmed his haste to trap her in deception.

Slowly, Vegeta slid his fingers towards her femininity, all while watching a myriad of reactions blossom on her face. He was nearly touching her, hesitating to call her bluff when she yelled out.

“Please, don't,” she pleaded. “Anything…but that….”

Her blue eyes were blurry with unshed tears and the prince removed his hands, careful to keep his dominant position over her. He cocked his head, confusion clouding his mind.

She wasn't acting for his benefit. The woman was truly terrified of being violated and this gave him pause.

She wasn't Frieza’s mistress, because if she was, she would've already been violated repeatedly and broken. Not to mention the small bits of skin that were exposed were perfect in their appearance, not marred by wicked bruises or scratches of long fingernails.

Breathless, Vegeta leaned body over her once more, locking his dark gaze with the vast oceans that were her eyes. “Who are you?” he inquired brusquely, trapping her head between his large arms. He could feel exhaustion quake in his limbs, but he pushed through the pain.

He had to know who she was and why she was here. Why did he feel drawn to her despite his hardened nature? Why couldn't he accept the terror of his dreams or the subconscious warning he had given himself through Raditz?

Frieza was lying to him about her purpose and that was enough to enrage the prince.

The woman didn't reply to his inquiry, instead looking up at him with a blank expression. Her lips were quivering, pink flesh parted to let uneven breaths escape.

“Answer me!” Vegeta demanded, slamming his hands down next to her face. The action greatly weakened him and caused his vision to black out momentarily, but he shook away the reaction.

To his surprise, the woman didn't obey. Instead, she furrowed her brows together and let out a huff of air.

“He’s lying,” she murmured. “You're not supposed to be here…. it doesn't make sense….” Her lips moved ceaselessly, spewing nonsense that he tried desperately to wrap his mind around.

The prince was through with the unknown and done trying to orient himself amongst the chaos. He could handle the twists Frieza had in store for him. Tests were what he expected, but the woman’s presence- he failed to see her importance, yet she haunted him.

With all the strength he had left in his compact body, Vegeta lowered himself down, straddling the woman. Their faces were impossibly close; he could smell her sweet breath as it ghosted over his lips.

“Tell me who you are,” he growled, his deep timbre rumbling in his chest.

The woman was struggling for breath, but she tried to comply. “Bulma,” she forced out. “Bulma Briefs.”

“What do you want from me?” the prince asked, noting the sweat rolling down her face. Her hands were no longer poised on his chest but she had placed them above her head while blue hair crowned her like a halo.

She was clean this time, and he could appreciate the smooth texture of her pale skin, so unlike his own. The tang of soap mingled with the stench of her fear.

“Nothing,” the woman answered, eyes firm.

Vegeta had to scoff at that. “You want something,” he stated, feeling his mouth brush over hers due to their close proximity. It seemed necessary to intimidate her in such a fashion, but when their lips briefly touched, it was he who felt out of control. “You haunt my dreams. You watch me in my cell, do you not? What have you done… to me?”

He lingered above her, letting his words fill the small spaces between them, the cracks between their curious forms.

Beneath him, the woman didn't reply, but her shallow breathing suddenly quickened and her eyes grew wide. Seconds later, a small fist collided with the prince’s face and had his body not been so deprived of sustenance, he would've withstood the blow.

Instead, Vegeta flew backwards, tumbling over himself. His head struck something hard and unyielding, causing him to cry out in pain.

His vision wavered from the collision, and the last thing he remembered was seeing his blue ghost whisk through the open door and out of sight.

* * *

 

Bulma ran, heart pounding as her booted feet slapped against the floor with urgency.

Her seemingly necessary plan of exploration had taken a dark turn, forcing her into contact with something- someone - she didn't understand.

The prince didn't kill her. He could've, but he didn't.

He did touch her, but his touch was not that of a murderous being, but rather gentle, searching for something on her body. She handled his fondling moderately well right up until the point that she felt his large hands glide over her clothed breasts. Then there was the heat of his flesh and the weight of his fingers on her inner thighs, but he didn't take her innocence.

He hesitated, and if anything, he seemed to be curious about her in a way that caused her great concern. Frieza had told them about his violent nature and detailed his capacity for cruelty.

How many times had the captives been warned about this dangerous man over the last week?

But whoever Bulma had encountered was nothing like the prince Frieza had spoken of.

The man had mentioned her being in his dreams, just as she had seen his eyes in hers.

How was that possible? What did it mean?

The prince had been hovering over her, so close, he could've done anything to her- used her as leverage for escape or taken what he wanted without remorse.

Certainly he had wanted her in that way….. he had been completely naked…..

Bulma let out a slew of curses and ran faster until she realized that getting caught in this wing despite her terror would not help her and Goku’s cause. She forced her gait to slow until her feet thundered to a stop and she stumbled to the nearest wall to catch her breath.

Sucking in air violently, she squeezed her eyes shut and felt her body begin to shake. She was distraught, coming apart at the seams, desperately trying to process all the information that her impulsive journey had brought her.

So they were working above a prison.

The prince had been moved from his cell and placed in some kind of tank, which was not a part of their plans for him.

On some level, Frieza was lying to them.

And though she tried to fight it, Bulma’s interest was now piqued by a very dangerous man with eyes like the blackest night.

With trembling hands, she touched her lips, feeling the slight brush of his flesh, recalling the need in his eyes.

The need to understand.

Her heart rate slowed, but sweat still clung to her skin, cooling by the minute. She took another deep breath and pushed away from the wall, intent on getting back to Goku in one piece.

If she could just get back to their room, she could tell him everything and-

A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, gripping her lips tightly while fingernails dug into her skin. The assailant tugged on her body, pulling Bulma flush against their form before forcing her to her knees.

She tried to scream, but a mouth appeared near her ear, breath hot and sticky.

“Quiet now, Miss Briefs.”

The voice was deep in its whisper, but Frieza’s pitchy tone was unmistakable.

Instantly, Bulma began to plead beneath the creature's fingers, promising things she had no right to bargain with.

The shell of her ear was kissed gently and Frieza lessened his hold by a fraction.

“Do not fret,” he cooed, dewy lips brushing against her heated skin. “I do not intend on punishing you, though I am disappointed at your lack of consideration.”

Bulma swallowed hard, bringing her hands up to tug on the creature’s arm and remove his harsh grip. She could feel the sting of his nails in her flushed cheek; droplets of blood welled up in their wake.

After a few moments of struggling, his hand fell away and she gasped for air violently.

“W-What do…. you… want with me?” she stuttered, mind reeling from creeping fear, taking over her body in a far more effective hold than anything Frieza could ever force on her.

Somehow, his breath was no longer cloying and humid as it danced along her skin; now it was icy, a chill that raced from her ear and into her brain, causing her to whimper at the sensation.

“Bulma, this is not about what I want from you,” Frieza clarified, one arm wrapping around her waist to stay her. “It is about the prince and what he will want from you.”

“What? You're making no sense…”

There was a giggle in her ear, a chilling sound that seemed to echo all around her. She flung her head down, trying to avoid having his sickly-sweet voice anywhere near her.

Her chin was grasped roughly, yanking her back to attention.

“You had better become accustomed to intimacy and discomfort, Miss Briefs,” Frieza growled low. “Because you are going to lead the prince down a very dark path. As of now, your role in the project has changed.”

Bulma felt her heart stop and her blood run cold before the creature spoke the words that would be the death of her.

“You see, I saw something today that pleased me very much. I see _everything_ ,” Frieza whispered. “My dear, you are going to make Vegeta fall in love with you and then you will kill him for it.”

The world tilted dangerously as Frieza released her and Bulma fell, too numb to reach out and stop her rapid descent. Her face smacked the metal floor and she groaned at the contact, pushing herself up to face the creature.

She could feel blood trickle from her busted lip. “And if I say no, will you just kill me already?”

Frieza bent down until he was level with her. His beady eyes burrowed deep into her unsteady gaze. “Oh, you are a pleasant surprise,” he mused with a grin. “I would never let something as rare as you believe for a second that you actually have that option.”

If Bulma wasn't terrified before, she certainly was now.

She had no choice but to be. 

 

 


	7. (Wasteland)

_Crouched over, you were not there, living in fear._   
_But signs were not really that scarce- obvious tears._   
_But I will not hide you through this._   
_I want you to help them._   
_Please see the bleeding heart perched on my shirt._

* * *

 

_”I could threaten to take your life but you are prepared to give it.”_

Frieza’s words still ran through Bulma’s head, filtering into her veins with a creeping chill as she walked back to her quarters.

Upon her appearance in the doorway, Goku leapt out of his bed.

“Bulma! I was so worried!” he exclaimed, rushing over to her. He pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his chin atop her head. “They were looking for you and I was so scared. I tried to act sick but they didn't believe me.”

Pushing away from her friend’s hold, Bulma attempted to move toward her bed, her limbs numb and heavy with every step.

Just as she brushed past Goku, he grabbed her shoulder and tilted her chin upwards. His thumb brushed across her swollen lip and then his slender fingers explored the raw scratches on her cheek. She quickly averted her gaze, dreading his questions.

“Bulma, what happened to your face?”

“The guards caught me, but Frieza helped,” Bulma lied, staring down at her now scuffed boots. “He made them stop and told me to come back here.”

Goku’s hand dropped away from her face, but she didn't dare look him in the eye while she deceived. Not after what she had done. Not after what she now knew.

_“I know you are wondering what leverage I possess over you and I can think of nothing better than your little friend, Goku,” Frieza whispered, his face inches away. He cocked his head, a half-smile playing on his dark lips._

_“You'll kill him if I don't cooperate?”_

_Frieza laughed at her question. “There are worse things than death,” he explained, now grinning. “I have no doubt that he told you about his past? The amusing thing is, he only remembers a small portion of his trauma. I suppose his mind has blocked out the rest, but I can remind him. I can turn him into the animal he once was.”_

“Bulma?”

Goku was now grasping her shoulders gently and Bulma was forced out of her unyielding thoughts.

“Look, there is no way out. I tried, but….. we should just be thankful for the opportunity Frieza gave us and move forward,” she finished, glancing up to assess her friend’s reaction. Large dark eyes stared back at her, filled to the brim with concern.

“You're lying,” Goku stated, voice cracking. He began to rub her shoulders. The action should've been comforting, but it set her on edge.

_“Animal?” Bulma repeated, the metallic taste of blood from her lip teasing her tongue._

_“Goku was what is known in the slave trade as a ’bull’,” Frieza explained, cupping her chin and dragging his fingers over her cheek as he spoke. “A drugged, mindless physical specimen used to breed for strong and adaptable slaves._

_“He recalls the rapes, sure, but he does not understand beyond that- the cages, the endless hours of forced copulation, and being milked for his seed. But I have been thinking about getting into that industry for some time now, and what luck it is to have a bull already in my possession.”_

_“You wouldn't…” Bulma whispered._

_Frieza responded with a toothy smile._

“Bulma, what really happened?”

When she didn't reply, Goku bowed out his chest and looked defiantly toward the doorway. “If you won't tell me, I'll go get the answers myself,” he declared, moving away from her. “I'll start with Frieza! No one should treat you like this-”

“Goku!” Bulma shouted, giving pause to her friend’s impulsive actions. He turned back to her and she saw the determination sparking in his eyes. At that moment, he appeared so large, all sharp angles and bulging muscles. He wouldn't let this go and she desperately needed him to, or they would both regret it.

_“Something's wrong with you,” Bulma hissed, eyes locked with the creature’s._

_“No, Bulma, something is wrong with you for you to refuse my offer and put your dear friend through all of that again,” Frieza jeered. “You are a perceptive woman, so tell me, which is the greater sacrifice: a little bit of your dignity or every ounce of his innocence, his hope?”_

_“Stop!” Bulma screamed, shaking her head._

_“And then there is the question of the rest of the project members…. I could let you watch as they beg for mercy and let them ask why you did not comply with such a simple favor. I can already envision your flesh coated in their blood while I make Goku enjoy their corpses-”_

_“STOP! I’LL DO IT! JUST…. STOP!”_

Goku was already halfway through the door and Bulma knew what she had to do.

She couldn't let him ask any more questions or make Frieza question her loyalty to their deal. He could never wonder about her strange behavior or the marks on her skin. He needed to focus on something else.

Without a second thought, Bulma crossed the space between them and pulled her friend into a searing kiss, pressing her lips desperately against his. His mouth was surprisingly soft and he tasted much like the pastries they were offered every night for dessert.

Goku was hesitant at first and she could feel him suppress his shock before he melted into her embrace, pulling her against his hard body with a gasp.

Winding her hands into his mass of hair, Bulma let tears slide down her cheeks, stinging her raw wounds, but her actions were far more painful than the saltwater mixing with her blood-encrusted skin.

It was wrong- this kiss that she didn't mean nor did she want, but if Goku only knew the horror his questions would bring….

She was certain that he would rather believe this lie.

Bulma broke their passion, pulling back from her friend’s eager mouth to look him squarely in the eye.

“You're crying,” Goku observed, gently wiping away her distress with his long fingers.

“I want to stay here with you,” Bulma pleaded, feeling her throat swell with the lie. “There's nothing for us out there but more pain. At least here, we can make the best of it. Just…. trust me.”

Her friend absorbed her words, staring down at her with a peculiar expression. He looked away and she saw the glint of his own tears threatening to fall.

“I guess I should've known it wouldn't be that easy,” Goku mused dryly, letting her go before rubbing his temple. He looked at her with imploring eyes. “You would tell me if something is wrong, right? They just roughed you up a bit and that's all that happened, right?”

“Yes,” Bulma replied, smiling weakly. She was calm on the outside, but internally she felt like every fiber in her body was dying, taking one final breath and pleading for mercy. “I'm tired, so… goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bulma.”

As soon as she was underneath the covers, every detail of her encounter with the prince came flooding back to her, but it was Frieza who haunted her restless waking moments and her endless nightmares.

Bulma stared at the blackness above her, seething with self-hatred. Her life was nothing more than a cruel existence. Either she was hurting herself or hurting others and she wasn't sure she could live like that, but she had no choice.

Such a burden weighed on her throughout the night and into the next day. She listened half-heartedly during the project meeting, barely able to focus on any word being spoken while Frieza gave her knowing looks from across the room.

She was certain that the others noticed the creature’s gaze on her, but no one mentioned the odd occurrence- not during the meeting or while they observed the prince. They did however, note the change in the prisoner’s demeanor. He now seemed more attentive to the window and Bulma knew it was because of her.

They discussed their suggestions for further environmental deprivation and afterward, Bulma lingered in the room, fingers pressed to the glass, wanting nothing more than the charade of her freedom to shatter. She was a prisoner too, the only difference being which side of the glass she was on.

“I thought for certain that you would do something rash.”

Bulma didn't jump at the voice- she had come to expect Frieza’s presence now, even in her thoughts.

“I thought I didn't have the option,” she quipped, now numb to the fear of the creature’s wrath. There would be no relief for her.

“You learn quickly, which is what makes you a valuable commodity,” Frieza declared, coming to stand by her at the window.

Bulma turned toward him, biting back fury. She wanted nothing more than to scream at him, possibly lunge at him until her hands successfully wrapped around his thick white throat. Exhaustion was paramount though, and all she could manage was a seething glare.

“You look tired, Bulma,” Frieza observed, reaching out to touch her face.

She avoided his touch, looking away from the creature and into the prince’s cell. The prisoner was staring right at her and she felt her heart skip a beat at the peculiar sight. He couldn't see her, but somehow he knew she was watching him.

“I don't want your pity,” she spat, suppressing the urge to yawn and show her weakness.

Frieza clucked his tongue and the sound emanating from his mouth was sickening. “You are just like him, which will serve you well when you begin your seduction.”

Despite knowing the nature of Frieza’s “favor”, Bulma was still shocked to hear the truth from the creature’s mouth. He was being honest with her and no longer hiding his intentions behind vague explanations and complicated words.

“I'm not a whore,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest, now very much aware of her body.

Beside her, Frieza let out a laugh and turned to the glass. “Vegeta would never bother himself with a whore. Believe me when I say that he has had ample opportunity and they do not interest him.”

“Then what do you expect-”

“Vegeta is a complex man, Miss Briefs,” Frieza stated over her complaint. “He has suppressed his own desires the entirety of his life to achieve his goals, but a man can only go so long without another’s…. attention.”

Bulma furrowed her eyebrows, glancing into the cell once more. Frieza spoke as if he knew the prince personally, when the man was supposedly a great enemy.

“He values opportunity, which is what will earn you favor with him at first,” Frieza continued. “You will visit him at night under the premise that you are secretly helping him to escape. He will not trust you at first, but that is not your concern. I will provide him with evidence to sway his opinion, and eventually he will begin to rely on you.

“The second objective is to capture his interest and after that, I have no doubt that he will give into his body’s natural desire. He has been starved of affection since birth, and thus will desire you so greatly that his heart will not be able to bear the pain you will inflict at my request. He will not survive the betrayal of his beloved.”

Bulma took a few breaths to comprehend what was being asked of her. From what she understood, she was to introduce the prince to his first glimpse of passion and love, only to rip it away violently and watch as he destroyed himself over it.

Her hands began to shake. She recalled the look in his eyes as he loomed over her the day prior, begging for understanding.

“He asked me who I was but he acted like he knew about me before,” Bulma offered, needing to know why they had both been dreaming of each other and why he was desperate to know her role in the facility.

Frieza smacked his lips. “I may have lead him to believe that you were my consort,” he explained with mirth.

“Consort?”

Leaning towards her, Frieza smiled wickedly. “My lover,” he clarified, moving to kiss her throat softly.

A disgusted sound erupted from Bulma’s mouth but the creature was not deterred; he backed her up against the glass.

“I will admit that the thought had crossed my mind, but your intellect was far more tempting than your body,” Frieza explained, ghosting his mouth over her.

Bulma quickly craned her neck away from his lips. “You make my skin crawl,” she huffed.

Frieza let out a breathy chuckle against her flesh. “That is not all I could do with your skin, my dear.”

At his words, Bulma pushed the creature away, horrified at how often she found him anywhere near her lately. “Just tell me what I need to do,” she demanded, pointing towards the prince’s cell.

Frieza straightened up before cocking his head. “Tonight, you will come to him claiming that you are my lover, but I have yet to indulge in you due to my busy schedule. He will be suspicious of this fact, but you will assure him that I am interested in your intellect, as you have expertise that I require. He is more likely to believe that I'm abstained myself upon learning of your genius.”

“What else?”

“You will bring him food, offer him a mental refuge, and sympathize with him,” Frieza explained. “He will undoubtedly reveal my true nature to you, but I suspect that you have already ascertained my deception.” He smiled softly at her, an off-putting action that made her blood run cold due to fear, then hot out of pure hatred.

“He will be difficult to arouse pity in, but I am certain you can think of something to manipulate his emotions. In the meantime, you will appeal to his physical nature- you will always be clean, well-groomed, and open to his touch. If he initiates contact, give into him completely, do you understand?”

Bulma nodded weakly, disgusted with herself more than she thought possible. She turned abruptly, wanting nothing more to purge her stomach and cry in privacy. “I'll be here after dinner,” she shouted, her face forward as she rushed to the exit.

“I will be expecting you. Please bathe prior to coming,” Frieza requested. “Oh, and Bulma?”

She stopped, turning to face the creature while gritting her teeth.

“If you tell your little friend about this, he will suffer. Though I already know that you have taken great pains to placate him,” the creature declared, tapping his puckered lips with a slender finger.

Bulma’s defiance dropped away in favor of awe. “How did you know-”

“I told you. I see everything,” Frieza sneered, laughing at her surprise. “I normally would not encourage you pursuing Goku, but now I suppose it will be good practice for the prince. Just be sure that neither one smell the other on you, or you will regret it.”

Bulma was taken aback by the brazen observation. She stumbled over a reply, but ultimately decided against defending her actions, all while assuring herself that she wasn't interested in Goku.

He was just a friend that she needed to protect. In him she saw safety and refuge, but not desire.

No, she was being forced to find that in the prince.

With a sigh, she turned and left the room, not once caring that she could feel Frieza’s greedy eyes devouring her from behind.

* * *

 

Vegeta was weightless, lying upon the floor of his cell, awaiting death. Whether he would fight it once it came for him or simply give into the sweet release remained to be seen.

The air was warm; it had gotten steadily hotter since the beginning of his imprisonment and he was certain it would become blistering in a week or two.

Frieza was trying to weaken him incrementally in various ways- nearly starving him, changing up his routine in an uncertain manner, and now the shift in environment.

These were all tried and true tactics used against prisoners of war and the creature would have to do much better in order to break Vegeta, but the fact remained- the prince was nearly dead, unable to summon an ounce of ki in his rapidly decaying state.

Though he conserved energy on a daily basis, his food supply was nothing more than unrecognizable meat the size of his fist, served to him once a day, cold, sometimes frozen. One glass of water was provided with the fare, and the prince began to ration it out, measuring the sips and drinking of it periodically throughout the day.

Well, at least what he considered “daytime”. He had began to measure time by the consistency of when the guards brought his meal or changed out his piss bucket, but even that became unreliable or his mind was beginning to slip.

Sleep- which was once so welcome thanks to Frieza’s drugs- was now beginning to evade him thanks to his constant hunger and the bright unceasing light above him. He was far too weak to keep his body in shape or do anything other than glare at the window of his cell contemplating two things: Frieza and the woman.

Frieza, because the bastard wouldn't just face him like a real man and give the prince a proper “test” rather than mind games or sadistic bullshit.

The woman- he refused to call her Bulma- because she was a mismatched part of a puzzle that Vegeta was sure wasn't solvable.

Frieza was a cunning creature, manipulating circumstance to acquire great power and a foothold over the universe, but what he was doing to the prince didn't quite make sense.

Why put him in a stability tank after he passed out just to send him right back into the same conditions? Why draw out the suffering?

While it was something the creature was capable of, it simply wasn't in his nature to execute such fantasies. He became brash after a certain amount of time and intensely impatient if the decision was left to him.

This slow burn…. it was almost as if Frieza had left another in charge of Vegeta’s “test”.

At the revelation, the prince let out a breath, too exhausted to properly swear.

_The woman._

She wasn't Frieza’s whore, he knew that much, but was she the one responsible for this?

He had to laugh weakly at the notion.

_Well, fuck, Raditz,_ Vegeta thought to the hum of the lights above him. _You were right. You were-_

The door to his cell hissed upon opening, and though the prince no longer cared whether he had guests, his body instinctively craved the action of sitting up to investigate.

With a groan, Vegeta did just that, slowly bringing his body up with great pain. His head still throbbed violently from the blow he suffered back in the tank room, but it appeared that the guards who had found him had at least bandaged the wound, even if the workmanship was shitty.

Letting out a huff of stale air, the prince finally managed to look at his guest.

His chest tightened.

The woman was standing in his doorway with a look of apprehension on her pale features. She moved further into the cell, taking her place on one of the white walls and staring at the ground. In her small hands was a plate of food, piled to the top.

The smell alone was enough to drive Vegeta mad, but he knew better than to trust anything that wasn't a part of his normal routine. He barely trusted anything now; the food he was brought daily was inspected thoroughly before consumption.

Silence settled between them and it took great effort on the prince’s part not to fall over. He was sitting cross-legged, bare except for his tight shorts, a sheen of sweat on his ruddy flesh. Narrowing his eyes in distaste, he managed a small huff, just enough to catch the woman’s attention.

Her head snapped up from her careful observation of the ground and she swallowed hard as she bent down to place the plate of food on the floor in front of him. She then backed away, resuming her position on the wall, but this time she didn't look away.

“I-I disabled the cameras,” she stuttered, fiddling with the collar of her tight blue suit. Her shoulder-length hair was damp and her skin still glowed from what he assumed was a hot shower.

He would've admired her face once more, but her bottom lip was swollen and cut, and blood-encrusted scratches ran the length of her left cheek. It appeared that she had indeed been caught away from her master while visiting him. She was lucky to not be covered in shades of black and purple. She was lucky to even be alive, but perhaps luck had nothing to do with it.

“Did you hear me?” the woman whispered, eyes darting around haphazardly. “I disabled the cameras.”

“I heard you,” Vegeta spat, allowing just those three words and nothing more. He stared at her defiantly, noting her body language; she was frightened, but not of him.

A fiery expression blossomed along her features at his dismissal and for once, the prince got the feeling that she was far more similar to him than possible. He watched her blue eyes in careful calculation before she reigned in her irritation and pointed towards the food she had brought.

“You need to eat,” she suggested, bending down once more to shove the plate further in his direction. “You're weak and you won't last much longer.”

Vegeta watched the offering slide towards him before coming to a jarring stop, splashing juices and sauce onto the floor. She didn't bring utensils. He looked back up toward her. “No.”

The disbelief on the woman’s face would've been amusing if his body hadn't been so tuned in on the food near his feet. Everything within him pleaded to be face-deep in the tender meats and succulent vegetables, but instinct kept his physical needs in check.

“I'm trying to help you!” the woman shouted, losing her composure. It was an interesting sight to witness; her concern wasn't quite genuine and he wondered briefly what her agenda was. Why had she appeared to him in the tank room and now, in what he assumed was the dead of night while her master slept?

“You are not Frieza’s whore, but you are working for him,” Vegeta observed dryly. “Why should I trust you? You have given me nothing but vague answers and unwelcome interruption.”

An odd expression crossed her features, confliction evident amongst her shock. She was thinking over her response carefully and the prince watched her full lips part repeatedly before she finally spoke.

“I am his….. consort,” she explained, disgust peaking in her tone. “He just hasn't…. taken advantage of me yet.”

Vegeta quirked a brow, but otherwise didn't spare an ounce of energy on such an obvious lie.

The woman swallowed deeply before continuing her attempt to convince him. “I build things,” she stated bluntly. “And I know a lot about technology. When Frieza bought me, he didn't know about my talents until I showed him. I have to help him now because I know the alternative is worse. As long as I keep creating things, he-”

“Then you know his favor will not last forever,” the prince interrupted, eyeing the woman with renewed interest. He knew the probability of her lying was high, but he had witnessed Frieza delay gratification for the promise of the PTO’s advancement, but reprieve always came at a high cost.

At his statement, the woman looked him right in the eye and uncrossed her arms to fall limply by her side. In her gaze he saw something- a plea for belief. It burned hot in those deep blue eyes and he gave his full attention to the next words out of her mouth.

“I know you're wondering why I'm here…” the woman trailed off, glancing over to the cell window before coming back to him. “When you asked me if I wanted something from you yesterday… I lied. You scared me and I ran, but I need you to help me escape. I'm human. I have no strength or knowledge of this place, but you do. I figured that if I help you as much I can despite the risk, then you can help the both of us.”

Her words were tempting as was her imploring gaze. Though Vegeta rarely cared much about anything other than strength and power, he delighted in the blue of her eyes. It was such an uncommon shade, much like the soft hair atop her head, and it recalled the steady waters of the pool behind the palace of Vegeta-sei.

The same pool he had been bathing in when his father’s advisors had come for him.

_“Little prince, will you come with us? Your father wants you to meet with a friend of his."_

And much like the smiles of the men who had lead him to Frieza’s ship, that blue couldn't be trusted.

Nothing could be trusted except for the prince’s own resolve and the blood rushing through his veins. He had been made a fool of too many times to fall for these cheap tricks and attempts at further subjugating him.

Frieza had promised Nappa power and gave him a swift death from behind. Vegeta could still remember the creature’s small hand sticking out of the burly man’s chest, clutching a dying heart.

Raditz had been allowed the same opportunity and now he only lived in the dark recesses of the prince’s mind.

Their ends had been unfair, but at least Frieza had pulled no punches and watched them suffer eye to eye.

But this…. sending a woman- possibly the architect of his torment- to bait him was just a fucking insult.

And it would not go unanswered.

Vegeta looked at her and cocked his head. “I do not trust you,” he replied before giving the floor his full attention in obvious dismissal. After a few minutes of silence, he dared a glance back at her. “You know nothing of me, yet you have chosen me to be your savior. Leave.”

The woman’s face dropped and her gaze became hollow. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and when she opened them next, fire had consumed them along with a desperate resolve.

“Are you too stupid to understand or something?” she mocked. “If you don't want help, then you deserve to die here!” She was breathless, chest heaving as she shouted. “Frieza was right. You're not a prince. You're just a pathetic little bitch.” She finished ranting and her creamy skin became flushed and dewy.

If he was being honest, seeing her enraged was a beautiful sight, but beauty would not save her.

Taking a deep breath, Vegeta uncoiled his body from its position and kicked the plate of food, sending it flying across the room. It shattered violently against the wall as food rained from above.

The woman jumped at the action, her blue eyes widening in terror, and in just one moment, she was reduced to the same trembling bitch from the day prior.

Two strides of his powerful legs and the prince was on her, fighting against his exhaustion, grasping her wrists and flinging her to the floor. He grabbed her by the hair, the blue silk slipping between his fingers as he yanked her head back violently.

His vision began to swim and he could feel his body beg for him to stop, but blood was already pounding in his ears and his fury had already been unleashed.

Every ounce of hatred, vitriol, frustration, and anger from the moment his heritage had been ripped from him to this polarizing instance flowed into the fibers of his muscles, begging for release.

No longer was he castrated, impotent, under Frieza’s thumb, now he was the god- he granted life or death as he saw fit and mercy was not an option. Frieza was untouchable for now, but she would not escape.

He slammed the woman’s head into the ground, felt her scream reverberate through the cell, accosting his sensitive ears. His hands wound around her throat and she immediately began to fight him off, pulling on his arms and kicking her long legs.

Vegeta didn't currently have the strength to kill her, but he desperately wanted to. Just to prove to Frieza that the bastard didn't have complete control over him- that even his little toys brought to trick the prince were disposable.

The woman was sputtering for air, that beautiful flesh of hers turning blue- but it was not the same shade as her eyes. She slowly quit her attempts at fighting him, but not before she mustered up enough strength to whisper heatedly into the air.

“Kill me,” she begged, tears sliding down the sides of her face, but they were not admittance of sorrow, but rather, hope. “Please.”

Her eyes were burning again and he saw the defiance in them, the fury that bubbled up to greet his curiosity and in those blue depths, Vegeta finally saw her true intentions.

If he refused her help to escape Frieza, then she intended to bait him into killing her.

A peculiar notion, but clever. If she was seeking escape as she had claimed and her master would not offer her the freedom of death, then she would need to consider self-sacrifice. But perhaps she was not strong enough to take her own life and thus her sudden provocation of him. This spared her the guilt of having made the choice herself.

But if she was lying and being used by Frieza to test him…. well, death at the hands of the prince allowed whatever leverage Frieza had over her to remain unscathed. If she died trying to appease the creature, he was far less likely to take out his wrath on another. She obviously wasn't afraid to give her life, so what was she protecting? A child?

Any other warrior would've overlooked her intentions, but not Vegeta. He suspected this was the manner in which his father had died- to ensure that the prince would live on and not be subject to his father’s refusal to be underneath Frieza’s boot. If only the king had known the death sentence he had signed in blood for his son that fateful day.

Suddenly seeing the woman for what she was- desperate and torn between her survival and the release of death- shocked Vegeta out of his actions. He threw her away from him, watching numbly as she coughed violently to regain air, all while those blue eyes watched him, unwavering.

The prince scrambled away, crawling backwards until he hit a wall. Food stuck to his hands and decorated his heated skin, but he was concerned with nothing else but the woman staring back at him.

She was small and frail, with eyes that contrasted the darkness of his own, but there was no mistake- he was looking at himself. Here in the dredges of the universe, he finally saw himself in another. She was broken and depraved.

And like a live wire snapping, sending jolts racing up his spine, Vegeta felt the spark of something impossible being birthed into his small world.

Hope.

* * *

 

Bulma stumbled out of the prince’s cell, stomach lurching. Her hands were on her neck, feeling the swollen flesh beneath her suit in horror. She was light-headed and she couldn't suck in enough air, her greedy lungs recalling the feeling of being deprived.

She made it back to the observation room where she fell to the floor, shaking and purging her dinner onto the cool metal. Saltwater streamed down her face, mixing with the bile erupting from her throat.

After she was finished, Bulma tumbled over backwards to rest on her haunches, spitting out the remains of vomit. Every action brought her great pain and she considered ceasing breathing just to alleviate the sensation.

Her fluttering eyes came to rest on Frieza who was watching her curiously from a few feet away. She was certain that he would torture her now; after all, she had failed to interest the prince.

If that didn't afford her torment, then certainly the creature had caught onto her impulsive attempt at sacrificing herself to the prince’s anger.

All she had wanted was to have a choice- any choice, but still retain her conscious. If she had just succeeded, then Frieza wouldn't be able to use Goku against her and she would no longer be under his control. It had seemed like such sweet relief when the idea had popped into her head…

But now…..

Now she would suffer in the worst ways possible… and Goku…

She opened her mouth to beg, throwing her dignity right down into the pile of vomit beneath her.

But Frieza was already moving toward her, stepping out of the shadows with a look of awe. Such an expression was disturbing in its authenticity and she wondered what she had done to elicit that response.

Coming to stand above her, the creature cocked his head and reached down for her. She flinched away from his touch, expecting pain, but Frieza’s hand was quivering, caressing the underside of her chin.

“Marvelous,” he whispered reverently. “You are simply marvelous.”

Bulma stared up at her tormentor, watching the way his eyes took her in, the tongue darting out to wet his purple lips. “I failed,” she declared.

Frieza ceased his petting, his long nails teasing her skin. “No, my dear, you have no idea just how victorious you have become. He is yours now, whether he realizes it or not. You have succeeded where even I have failed.”

It was awhile before Bulma processed the creature's words. She didn't respond when she was helped to her feet and lead to the bathing room. She didn't react when she was stripped, or when cold water poured over her head, slowly becoming hotter with every passing second.

She was numb, having been on the edge of death, only to be pulled farther back than she thought possible. Her mind had accepted sacrifice, pushed to that dark precipice, and now she was safely on her feet once more. It was too much.

Frieza made her sit on the ground while he bathed her, running soap over her limp body, murmuring sweet praises that floated past her ears and mingled with the steamy air.

His fingers were in her hair, combing out her distress while she stared blankly ahead, feeling like the dolls that once decorated her childhood room.

They were nothing but pretty little things made for play- fragile in their form, empty in their mind, their actions manipulated for pleasure.

Bulma laughed impulsively at the thought of what she had become. Behind her, hands stopped their careful caressing and soap slid into her eyes, burning, but she didn't care.

She couldn't stop.

Tangled up with her beneath the spray, Frieza laughed along and their combined voices became a sick, bloated rhapsody.


	8. (Bleeder)

_I hear a noise inside my brain- it is caressing me._  
_I feel this urge inside my veins- it is controlling me._  
_I cannot help myself; this body has to feed._  
_I can’t control myself; I have to see you….. bleed._

* * *

 

“Bulma?”

The woman in question rolled over in her bed, facing the direction of her friend in the pitch black. “Yeah?”

Goku was silent for a few minutes, then she heard the rustling of sheets and seconds later, he was hovering above her. His breath was heavy, labored, and Bulma knew that her hardships had only just begun.

“I can't sleep,” her friend declared, choking on his words. “I should've been there, Bulma. I should've-”

“It's ok,” Bulma interrupted, already exhausted emotionally, and thanks to the late hour, physically. “Frieza took care of it.” The lie coated her mouth with remorse, but she swallowed it back.

Above her, Goku still struggled to understand. “How could one of the guards just attack you like that? It's not right,” he complained. “First they catch you sneaking around and hurt your face and then one of them tries to choke you out for no reason? Something's wrong.”

He was right; something was very wrong, but she couldn't begin to explain to him the depths of their depravity. How they both were nothing but bodies warming beds and minds manipulated for sick gain. How this was all a twisted little game, but there was no winner and the end never came; Frieza would make sure of that.

“It's ok,” Bulma repeated, more for her benefit than her friend’s. “It was just a one time thing. Frieza said that he had trouble with that guard for awhile. It won't happen again.”

The bed shifted and Goku was now sitting at her feet. His voice sounded so empty, hollow. She knew that they had become close, but she was beginning to understand just how attached he had become.

“Next time Frieza asks you to work late at night, I should come with you just in case something happens.”

“No,” Bulma protested a little too quickly. She tried her best to undo the damage. “Goku, you need your rest. You barely sleep enough as it is. It's just a little extra work and…. I'll always come back to you.”

There it was again- the strange compulsion to pander to his attachment to her. She had never intended to lead him on, but it became apparent that he would agree with her if she did. Frieza had taught her that much; deception was no longer the only tool at her disposal when it came to survival.

Every time she let Goku’s hands linger on her, or she held his gaze, she felt sick at her actions, but then she remembered the touches he had experienced before her- forced and violating. He could never know that she was hurting him in this slow manner to spare him the greatest pain, and if she did everything correctly, he wouldn't have to.

“I just….” Goku trailed off, biting back his words. The bed shifted again and his voice was much closer. “Can I sleep with you tonight? I just need to know you're ok and that… I'm ok.”

Bulma leaned up on her elbows, straining to see his face in the glow coming from the wall screen. She could only make out the sharp angles of his jaw and the fullness of his lips. She wanted to say no and spare both of them the risk of closeness, but the way he had worded his question softened her. He wasn't just asking to comfort her, but to comfort himself.

Before she thought better, she found herself whispering her approval into the dark and Goku made his way under the thick sheets to snuggle beside her. The bed was large enough for both of them, but only if they remained close together. Instinctively, Bulma scooted away from the edge toward the middle, only for Goku to gently wrap his arms around her, pulling her into him.

He was bare chested, as he was most of the time, and she could smell soap wafting off his smooth skin. They still showered in the same room, and just like that first time, Goku took great pains to keep his eyes closed.

The only difference was that Bulma had stopped caring. She now watched him bathe across the room with fresh eyes, now aware of his past and noting all the various ways he was valued for his body.

He was tall, powerful, and firm, but soft in all the right places with expressive eyes and the face of a handsome angel.

She pitied him for his trauma, but Frieza had began to taint her mind, making her momentarily forget that they weren't objects, only to be reminded otherwise at every turn.

She was beginning to straddle a dangerous line between apathy and sympathy.

She was losing her mind.

“When you kissed me, did you mean it?” Goku suddenly asked, holding her to him and gently rubbing her back through her suit.

Bulma was startled by the question, tongue quickly becoming tangled in the lies threatening to erupt from her mouth. She knew she needed to keep him happy; keep him from looking too closely at her bruises and cuts. Keep his wandering mind away from Frieza, but she couldn't do it. Her voice was nothing but a huff of air straight into his broad chest as her face laid upon it.

A small laugh pushed from her friend and the action made her head bob against his body. “It's ok if you dunno,” Goku stated with mirth. “I dunno if I meant to kiss you back either.”

“You don't?” Bulma asked, incredulous. She had been so sure that he was smitten with her, unless he was being coy.

“No,” Goku replied candidly. “All I know is that we need each other, and it's nice to have you around, but I don't know how to touch someone _in that way_  because I want to and not because I have to.”

Suddenly, Bulma felt horrified at forcing herself on him to keep him from asking questions. She should've known that after all the abuse that it would be difficult for him to be intimate, but then again, here he was, holding her, tangled up in her bedsheets.

“I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm really sorry,” she murmured, panic welling up in her gut. She was supposed to be sparing him pain, not thrusting it upon him.

Goku pulled her closer, molding her body to his. She looked up at him, still only able to see little in the small amount of light offered, but she could feel him smiling. He kissed the top of her head and his lips lingered there, connecting them for a few fleeting seconds.

“No, I liked it,” he explained, running one hand up and down up her back while the other played with her hair. “I think if anybody could show me how to enjoy being close to someone that way, it could be you.”

Upon hearing his words, Bulma expected him to kiss her just then and she wondered how she would respond.

Would his hands pull her even closer and would she bring hers to his hair to feel that black silk run through her fingers? Could she lose herself in that one glimpse of comfort?

Suddenly she became acutely aware of how little space was between them and how large he was in comparison to her. It was enough to make her face flush with shame and guilt and something else entirely.

But Goku didn't kiss her; instead he fell asleep, his chest rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. She let the undulations of his body rock her into a peaceful slumber, feeling her body in tune with his just for that fleeting glimpse of true freedom.

She savored it for fear that she would never feel so relieved again.

* * *

 

Vegeta was left in a state of complete disarray. Not only that, but the bitch had also left behind quite a mess to clean up.

There was food nearly everywhere, sprayed across the floor and clinging to the walls. The plate she had brought was shattered, and tiny shards decorated the floor and blended into the blinding white.

For someone supposedly with enough genius to stay Frieza’s hand, she hadn't even considered that the scene she left behind would give away her “involvement” with the prince.

It was a simple mistake- a mistake that made Vegeta believe her claim all the more.

Of course, he had attempted to kill her, and naturally she would've left in haste, but the look in her eyes continued to haunt him.

The woman had wanted to die. She _needed_ the release and he knew how much he was risking by believing her, but either way, the prince was as good as dead on his own.

If his assumptions proved to be correct, then his “test” wasn't a test. I was nothing but brutal torture until he would eventually break and either end up a mad animal trapped in a cage for Frieza’s amusement, or he would die, wiping the Saiyan race from the face of the universe forever.

He was the last hope of his deceased father, his lost people, and his raped heritage. He was utterly alone and in the depths of night he pondered those who had fallen before him- he even thought about Tarble, who had refused to fight.

If Vegeta continued on like this, he wouldn't become stronger and he wouldn't achieve the legend of Super Saiyan. There would be no fight between him and Frieza and he would wither away, far more disgraced that Nappa and Raditz ever were.

The thought sickened him immensely, but nothing was harder to digest than the realization that he would have to trust the strange woman. He hated such a castrating notion, but he had no other choice. He needed sustenance to survive and information to form an attack plan.

She wanted to escape, but the prince would not leave this place until he was wearing Frieza’s blood like a second skin.

But for now, he would entertain the woman’s plan as long as it favored his cause, but if she was lying to him….. then she would wish for an eternity with Frieza rather than his wrath.

After staring at his cell door for what felt like days, Vegeta pushed himself to his feet and assessed his surroundings.

He needed to erase evidence of her visit before the guards visited. He had no blankets to mop up the food with, so he got down on his hands and knees, ignoring the stinging of broken glass, and grimaced at what he was about to do.

He had no choice- he had to survive and his stomach was still so empty.

As he lapped up the cold, congealing remnants of his meal on the floor, he vowed that he would never feel this demoralized again.

* * *

 

Bulma ran her fingers over the fabric laid out before her. She looked up from the table to meet Frieza’s amused gaze.

“What's this?”

The creature gave her a small grin. “A dress. I am taking you to a gathering tonight and you must look like you are deserving of being on my arm.”

At a loss for words, Bulma held up the small plum-colored garment, assessing the stretchy fabric and noting the fact that it wouldn't cover much of her curvaceous figure.

“You seem surprised,” Frieza observed, crossing the length of his quarters to stand in front of her.

When he had called her to his room, Bulma had been anxious, contemplating what such a request could mean. It hadn't gone unnoticed by her that the creature was becoming more comfortable with her ever since the first “meeting” with the prince. She desperately wanted to forget the feeling of him bathing her, though he hadn't been inappropriate.

In fact, since that moment, he had been nothing but accommodating, ensuring that her and Goku had whatever they desired at their fingertips. She hadn't expected the sudden outpouring of generosity, and naturally, she was suspicious, certain that Frieza would escalate his requests when she visited the prince.

To her surprise, he told her to merely feed the prince for the last few days and nothing more. Bring him food, collect his old plate, and then leave. No talking, no eye contact. Just the plate on the floor before an abrupt exit.

He claimed that it would soften the prince further to her “cause” and convince him to trust her. Even though she was being manipulated, Bulma hoped that was the case- the bruises on her neck were still fairly fresh and they were painful.

She looked down at the sleeveless dress in her hands. It had a high neckline to hide the array of colors on her flesh- how considerate. She placed the outfit back on the table and sighed.

“I thought you would make me wear this for…. him,” Bulma replied honestly. She no longer held her tongue around the creature. She had come to realize that he reciprocated her candid nature.

No more secrets, just torment.

A simple arrangement.

Frieza cocked his head, a familiar gesture to her now, and pursed his lips in concentration. “He would certainly appreciate the sight of you in it, but why should he have all the fun?”

Turning her back, Bulma took in the room while trying not to visibly shudder at his words. Frieza’s quarters were lavish, decorated with all sorts of interesting mementos from other cultures, but his bed was small and seemed to be plugged into some sort of machine in the wall. Perhaps a heating system. His lips had been on her neck enough to know his blood ran cold.

“What kind of gathering?” she inquired, wondering what sort of company a creature like him kept.

Behind her, Frieza clucked his tongue. “Dress and find out, my dear.”

She turned to reply, but he was slipping out the door, leaving her to prepare for the night ahead. As she dressed, she noticed a hairbrush left for her next to a pair of strange sandals.

After she was clothed, she ran the object through her blue locks, enjoying the feel of her normally unruly hair being controlled. She had been given a comb, but it was never sufficient.

A few minutes later, Frieza let himself back in, giving her a small compliment on her new look. He held out his hand and she took it, following him out into the hall and down several corridors.

He stopped abruptly and produced a thin black strip of cloth and gestured for Bulma to lean down. He then tied the fabric over her eyes in a makeshift blindfold before leading her once more toward their destination.

“I am sorry, but it is just a precaution in case you become curious again,” Frieza explained. “Our little party is on the other side of the facility.”

His tone was light and teasing, but Bulma knew his words were laced with a threat. They walked for quite awhile and her feet began to hurt, stuffed into the strange sandals which stood taller in the back than the front. On top of that, she felt like her dress was riding up in the back; the tight fabric was barely able to cover her.

She had been right about the fit, but Frieza approved and that's all that seemed to matter anymore. Instead of focusing on her discomfort, Bulma tried to familiarize herself with the direction they were heading, but they were taking so many turns it was becoming impossible to keep up.

Finally, they came to a stop and the blindfold was removed, revealing a a large black door and Frieza’s wicked grin.

“Do as I say and I will reward you for the inconvenience,” he instructed and Bulma nodded along numbly, already hating herself for becoming such a compliant little pet so easily.

Two guards hoisted the large door open for them and the first thing to assault her senses was the loud noise, which she figured was some attempt at music, but nothing like anything she had ever heard.

It was electronic in nature, though it had a somewhat catchy rhythm. All around, creatures were dancing along, moving their bodies along to the beat. Some were gyrating haphazardly while other aliens performed sexualized moves along with the music.

Bulma had never seen such a vulgar display, but she couldn't look away. Frieza lead her through the chaos by the hand toward the back of the room and as they walked, she absorbed every foreign detail- the flashing lights, the scent of heavy perfume mingled with sweat, and the reckless nature of the guests.

Somehow she had envisioned something quite different, perhaps a meeting of others like Frieza, discussing whatever it was he did when she wasn't around, but this “gathering” was more oriented toward the loss of inhibition and selfish pleasure.

“Sit.”

Frieza’s shrill voice grasped her attention and Bulma sat down in circular booth followed by the creature.

He didn't speak again, instead glancing out over the assembled crowd dancing in the center of the room while others sipped colored beverages from glass goblets on the outskirts of the action.

“I-I didn't expect this,” Bulma admitted, genuinely interested in an explanation.

Frieza smacked his lips and looked over his fingernails before responding in a unaffected monotone. “Despite my power, I know the importance of placating my subordinates,” he explained. “Brute force is a powerful weapon, but it will leave you with few live bodies to follow.”

“But keeping them entertained and happy allows you to manipulate all of them,” Bulma finished dryly, trying to find something to do with her hands. She settled for sitting on them.

Frieza gave her a toothy smile and cupped her chin. “I can never cease giving you enough praises for your keen instinct,” he purred, letting out a giggle.

The childish sound was unexpected and Bulma found herself craving more of it. The sudden need to make him laugh again was so overwhelming and she began to wonder just when she had fallen prey to his psychological ensnarement. She had recently stopped questioning him and now she was seeking his approval.

She was just as sick in the head as he was and now there she was, at a rather crude gathering with him, alone in the corner. She wanted to vomit but she swallowed it back.

A lizard came to the table and Frieza requested that they be brought drinks, and soon Bulma was staring at a glass full of dark liquid.

“It is a sweet wine found in my home system,” Frieza explained, pushing the beverage toward her. “Drink.”

It wasn't a suggestion.

She sipped at the liquid, thankful when some other creatures came to their table to speak with Frieza. He introduced her briefly before speaking with the aliens in a strange language. She tried to listen along, but quickly became bored, taking in the dancing and unusual music.

As she started to drift away from the conversation at the table, Bulma noticed that her skin was becoming highly sensitive. Every brush against her flesh nearly elicited a gasp from her and she became hot. Sweat collected on her hairline and underneath the fabric of her dress. She tried to ignore the sensation, but when she shifted in her seat and her thighs brushed together, a jolt of pleasure raced up her spine.

Startled, she leaned against Frieza as the feeling passed.

She couldn't focus on anything else except for an unknown need that was ravaging her body and she barely registered Frieza dismissing his guests.

Soon they were alone and Bulma turned to him with a panicked expression. She had been forced to consume alcohol before and it never had this effect. She had all of her faculties about her, she was just acutely sensitive to touch and…. smell.

She could smell Frieza, his breath. It was sickly sweet.

Her mouth was watering and the underwear she had been given were sticking to her in an odd fashion. She felt hot and cold all at once and she just wanted to be held.

Frieza’s fingers caressed the underside of her jaw and she involuntarily moaned at the touch. It felt so good, the way his smooth skin glided along hers. She lifted her face to give him better access and he laughed at the action.

“Such a good girl.”

At his words, Bulma’s eyes snapped open. She weakly slapped his hand away and looked toward her now empty glass of wine.

“You put something in it,” she whispered, horrified, glancing back toward Frieza.

He gave a her a knowing look and a grin teased the corners of his mouth. “It was just a little something to help relax you,” the creature stated. “I have been thinking, and now that you have the prince’s attention, you need to keep it. To do so, you will need to learn how to be more receptive to touch and how to use that body correctly.”

Bulma was struggling to tune out her body’s struggle, but her heart did stop at his words. Her expression dropped and she felt the blood drain from her face.

Frieza gave her a concerned look before breaking out into laughter. “Oh, do not worry, my dear. I will not force myself upon you, nor will I let any one of these unworthy creatures touch you.”

As if to make his point, he pointed toward the entrance with flourish. There, standing awkwardly in his training clothes, was a very confused Goku.

“I told you that I would reward you. He is here for you to practice with,” Frieza clarified. “He and Vegeta are both of similar age and physicality; if you can learn his desires, you can understand the prince’s needs better.”

Bulma gaped at the statement, immediately refuting such an observation. “No, I don't want-”

A slender white finger was pressed to her lips in an effort to silence her. “I see everything, remember? Several nights ago when he was in your bed, you wanted him. I could tell. Well, give into him,” Frieza suggested, dragging his finger slowly down her sensitive lips. She closed her eyes against the pleasurable sensation. “Give into _me_ ,” he growled.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was absorbed by the beady red orbs. “I hate you,” Bulma whispered, the truth spewing from her lips like sour vomit.

Frieza leaned over and caressed her face once more, letting his fingers linger on her skin. “Not yet, Miss Briefs,” he purred. “But you will.”

He then rose out of the booth, making way for her, and before she knew it, her feet were moving on their own accord towards Goku.

The trip back to the entrance was longer than when they had arrived, and it gave her time to think and panic.

In her current state, she knew that one touch from Goku would have her unraveled and asking for things she had never experienced. She already trusted him and they had a bond- now her skin was on fire and if he didn't leave, Bulma was certain that her actions would conjure up bad memories for him.

Her friend noticed her approach and gave her a sloppy grin, eyes half shut. It appeared that he had just received his medicine for the day and was more inebriated than her.

“Bulma!” he cheered, standing by the door, dressed in his tight-fitting pants and snug shirt. “Frieza said you needed me.”

“Goku, you need to leave-”

“Hey, is there food here? I'm starving!”

Bulma sighed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him away from the doorway. “I'm ok, but you need to go back to our room. I'll tell you all about this later.”

Goku seemed to digest her words, looking out across the room with a blank expression. Slowly, he turned his attention toward her and his eyes grew wide.

“Bulma, you look so pretty,” he murmured and she had to lean in closer to him to hear above the music. “That dress….”

The music suddenly seemed much louder and Goku was much larger. Bulma stared up at her friend with genuine concern, trying to understand why he was acting so strangely. His eyes were hungry for something she couldn't quite name and it made her own stomach twist up in knots. She felt his hands wrap around her waist, but she pushed away from him.

“Look, it's not safe for you to be here because I-” Her explanation was cut off when Goku suddenly leaned down and placed his lips at her ear.

“Have you ever danced before?” he slurred, chuckling. “I used to go to things like this all the time. My masters liked to have people pay to….” his voice trailed off and he recoiled from her, shaking his head violently while mumbling “no” under his breath.

Bulma gently grasped him by the shoulders and tried to soothe him. “It's ok, it's ok,” she assured him. “This place isn't good for you. Just go back to our room and I'll meet you there.”

Anguish consumed Goku’s demeanor when he finally looked up at her and without thinking, she went in for a hug, instantly regretting her actions the moment their skin touched.

It felt like tiny sparks danced along her flesh and her knees nearly buckled at the sensation, but her friend held her in place. She bit back a moan at the way they touched, having never been so exposed to him before. She was always in her body suit, but now she could feel Goku’s arms around her, his fingers gently sliding along her biceps.

“Goku,” she breathed, trying to extricate herself from his hold, but he was looming over her. “Goku,” Bulma tried again. “We need to stop or-”

“Or what?” His voice was thicker, forced out, and she could feel him start to become unraveled. His large hands moved to her waist and she gasped at the weight of them perched so carelessly on her body. A rush of heat flooded her veins and she involuntarily arched her hips into his, uncertain where the motivation came from.

All she knew was that she was about to lose everything: her friend, her dignity, and the last shred of choice she had left. This was her body and she would be damned if she let Frieza’s drugs have their way with it.

“Or we’ll make a mistake,” Bulma replied, breathless, just as his lips came to rest on her neck. She shivered at the touch, warring with her mind and body. Goku’s tail was suddenly caressing her face and neck, ghosting along her sensitive flesh, and she knew a difficult decision had to be made.

She pushed away from her friend, looking up into his concerned face which was heavy with drugs, and she whispered a pained apology before running out of the party and into the corridor. She briefly heard Goku pursuing her, and panic encouraged her to hide until her body would no longer threaten to betray her.

Running through the facility, there was only one place that she knew he wouldn't look for her, and Bulma ignored the rational part of her brain that screamed for her to turn back.

* * *

 

Vegeta was in the corner, head thrown back against the wall while he tried to doze off into some semblance of slumber.

The door to his cell flew open and just as quickly it was shut again, a loud hiss invading the small space.

The prince opened his eyes slowly, expecting his food to be set down on the ground before the woman darted off, but to his surprise, she stayed.

Her eyes locked with his before she collapsed to the ground, sliding along the wall while tucking her legs beneath her.

She didn't bring food with her, but Vegeta was only disappointed for a brief second before he registered her clothing.

Expanses of creamy flesh met his vision as she shifted repeatedly and he let his eyes devour every inch offered to him. Her neck was covered, but he was certain that his hands were imprinted on her skin and he momentarily regretted marring her.

In all his years, Vegeta had never looked at another being with lust or desire. He had appreciated beauty- after all, he was still male- but it was nothing more than fleeting glances to assess a female’s more appealing features.

But seeing the woman cowering against the wall, so exposed to his sight, recalled every vulgar part of the dream she had starred in. It made his skin hot burn.

He had intended on cornering her upon her next appearance to discuss her “plan” of escape and decide for himself if it was possible, but his resolve wavered upon seeing her so vulnerable.

Subconsciously, the prince began to move toward her, his body flexing as he crawled like a deadly predator along the floor. He hadn't bathed since the tank and had grown immune to his smell, but now he was acutely aware of another scent perfuming the air.

The woman’s arousal.

It was a heady insult to his keen Saiyan nose and it nearly crippled him. Vegeta felt his tail unfurl from his waist and slowly wave in the air of its own free will. He had nearly reached the woman when she began to shake.

“Don't come any closer,” she whispered, squeezing her her eyes shut. “Don't… Don't…”

The prince stopped his advance, carefully assessing her demeanor.

She was trembling in her limbs and her skin was decorated with a thin sheen of sweat. She opened her eyes and her gaze was frantic, resting upon Vegeta only once before darting around.

“You do not want me near you now, when only a short time ago, you tried to die by my hand?” the prince observed in a mocking register.

“That was different. I don't feel well… just stay over there,” the woman shouted, leveling a look of disgust on him. It sent fire through his veins and rage erupted in his mind.

“You will not provoke me again to find relief. If I must suffer him, then so will you,” Vegeta spat, palms pressed flat against the floor in an effort to still his trembling hands.

When she didn't respond, the prince cocked his head and breathed in her scent. It was more potent now, curling around him and causing the hair on his body to stand on end.

“He drugged you,” he observed, watching her chest heave.

The woman whimpered in response, clutching her hands to her chest. “It's getting worse, I can't focus-”

“It is a potent aphrodisiac,” Vegeta explained. “The effects can last up to two daily cycles depending on the dosage.”

Silence met his ears; it even seemed that she ceased breathing to process his words.

He expected her to explode once more and incite his wrath, but instead the woman let out a small laugh and that blue gaze bore into him.

“How does he do it? How can he take away our choice so easily?”

It was such a genuine question born out of pure despair. Vegeta had asked himself the same question countless times, mulling over all the missed opportunities to kill the creature, the latest being right before he accepted his “test”.

The prince sat on the floor, resting his elbows on his drawn-up knees, legs spread wide. “He does not take it away,” he clarified, looking away toward the cell window. “He gives choice at every opportunity and we are foolish enough to choose what he wants.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew the sentiment was true. He thought back over each defining moment in his life under Frieza and was sickened by every time he had played right into the creature’s hand.

Vegeta looked back at the woman and hardened his features. “We do want he wants or we face death, either physical or mental. Both are choices, no matter how unfair, but we can choose.”

It felt strange to speak so candidly after years of suppression, but he had never spoken of the horrors of Frieza to another. Even when Nappa and Raditz still lived, the last remaining Saiyans rarely discussed the brutal nature of their situation. Instead, they let themselves become consumed by conquest until red permanently colored their vision and they could see nothing through the haze.

The woman had stopped replying, tears flowing from the side of her face. He wanted to scream at her for becoming so weak when only a short time ago she braved his fury to face death.

If they were to survive, they needed to put aside terror and purge out every exploitable weakness that the creature could feed on. They needed cunning, guile, and they needed to focus.

As Vegeta wrestled with his thoughts, the woman’s eyes slipped shut and she tried to curl in on herself. The sight was enough to enrage him all the more and he pushed off the floor to come face to face with her.

Upon hearing him shuffle in front of her, she recoiled, trying to distance herself from him, but the prince pinned her against the wall between his arms. The woman cowered beneath him, squirming in distaste as she tried to curl further in on herself, but Vegeta wasn't having any of it.

He slapped her lightly across the face, earning her unbridled attention, then he cupped her chin in his rough hand. “Look at me,” the prince ordered, his deep timbre vibrating the air between them. “I have chosen to entertain the notion that you are not lying to me. That being understood, we cannot afford to make simple mistakes or give into his attempts to curb our determination.”

No reply came from the woman, but her lips parted and she exhaled softly right into his face. Vegeta bristled at the smell of Frieza’s sweet wine on her breath and it only served to remind him of her lack of focus.

He shook her, growling as he did so. “He is trying to break you down by removing any sense of control. He most likely drugged you in an effort to get you to beg him for his touch, and once he has broken you in that respect, you will never be able to leave. Your mind will not be able to conceive of a life without threat.”

His words seemed to startle the woman out of her stupor and a dull flame sparked in her blue eyes.

“You speak as if you know,” she observed, tilting her head in a manner that drew Vegeta’s gaze to the long column of her pale neck.

“I know better than any,” the prince responded curtly. “I have been with him my entire life.”

Her eyes widened in shock momentarily before she shifted her position, bringing out her long legs from underneath her. She was tired and her eyes were beginning to lose focus. He leaned in closer in order to slap to attention once more.

As soon as he moved, however, a sea of blue was watching him again, and those eyes pulled him in.

“You're making it worse,” the woman whispered, trailing her shaking hands up and down her body slowly, roaming over her hips and back up to the curves of her chest.

Vegeta watched the mesmerizing movement for a few heartbeats, before reaching out to stop one of her hands. “You need to give yourself release or it will become far worse and you will be useless to me.”

When the woman stared back blankly at him, the prince became angered, tired of having to dictate every little thing to the frail bitch.

He pushed up her dress quickly before she began to fight him and placed one of her hands over the sheer white fabric covering her femininity. Looking away from the sight to her face, he spoke in a low register. “Rub yourself.”

“No, I can't. He-”

“Do it!” Vegeta growled. “I grow tired of our fruitless encounters! If you want my help then we need to move past the obstacles Frieza has laid in our path and begin working toward freedom.”

Once again, hollow eyes stared back at him and the prince had enough. He wound his hand in the back of her hair and pulled her to him, placing his mouth at her ear. “Rub,” he commanded, feeling the woman tense in his arms.

A few seconds later, her arm began to move slowly and he stared at the wall as he encouraged her.

“Keep going.”

Her arm began to move faster and tiny heated moans began to push past her lips. Her face was buried in his shoulder and he could feel her frame tremble as she guided her body towards release, slowly, teasingly.

“More,” he whispered, irritated at the vulgar situation he had placed himself in. If they could just move pass this trivial circumstance, then they could prepare for war on Frieza’s trickery.

But as seconds flew by and the woman became unraveled beneath him, Vegeta couldn't help but become consumed with the sounds swirling around him. He had never heard such blatant rapture from another being before and he fought against such intoxicating noises.

His heart began to beat faster and he too was sweating profusely, as if he was an active participant in the bliss. He shut his eyes, intending to block out the sensation but it only became heightened and he was soon panting alongside the woman, feeling his body react just as it had the first time he laid eyes in her. His free hand twitched and he placed it lightly on his stirring groin.

His eyes snapped open in recognition.

Was this the moment from his dream? The moment he and the woman both barreled toward pleasure together, moans filling the air while he tried to push her farther?

Without thinking, the prince pulled away from her, catching her light eyes with his dark gaze and he dared to look down at the scene below him.

It was so obscene the way her fingers had found their way beneath the dampened fabric. It was lewd of him to stare and whisper “faster” as she worked herself aggressively.

So very wrong, how when he finally tore his gaze away and looked into her eyes once more that she shuddered and her body went slack, a deep, sinful moan wresting from her pink lips.

It was unbecoming of a warrior to find a flaw in his armor and ignore it, but Vegeta was unwilling to regret the torrent of thoughts that flowed through his mind. He wanted to stay in that moment and watch her skin flush at his attention and take in the sight of her hand falling away from her lower half, glistening in the bright light.

Instinctively, he leaned in, satisfied to hear her breath hitch while a slick hand grasped his bicep gently, but before he could betray himself in the worst way possible, a peculiar scent assaulted him.

Now that the woman had achieved release and her arousal was quickly fading, something else was lingering in the air, emanating from the base of the woman’s neck. The prince quickly shoved his face there, breathing deeply until the musky odor delivered a powerful blow to his ego.

It had been years since such an scent had graced his senses and he fell back in shock, his whole body shaking with the realization.

On the woman was the unmistakable smell of another Saiyan.

He was not alone after all.

Though he was staring into beautiful blue eyes, Vegeta’s vision faded into red and he began to shake, quaking with a deep anguish. His senses became clouded, pushing out every other stimuli until all he could focus on was the woman staring back at him in horror.

Her gaze flitted to the floor and he followed it, noticing two large red droplets beneath him.

“You're bleeding.”

Her voice was small, but curious, and he tried not to waver at the absurdity of it all. The prince could now feel the torrent of blood cascading from his nose but he set his sight firmly ahead as the liquid crested over his lips.

When he spoke next, tiny flecks of blood flew from his mouth and decorated her pale skin in a stark manner.

“Tell me who he is.”


	9. (Lie)

_’Cause confidence is key_   
_when violating trust._   
_I'm making sure that I believe_   
_I'm doing what I must._   
_Which is attempting to kill_   
_the little boy inside._   
_But as hard as I try..._   
_The child will not die._

* * *

 

Vegeta didn't intend to lose his composure, but the scent of another Saiyan drove him mad.

For years he lamented the fact that he was the last of his kind, and now the woman had introduced him to a different reality in a mere matter of seconds.

It was simply maddening; it was agony.

His head was throbbing and his vision blurred. He regurgitated into his mouth as he screamed, but he swallowed it back, not giving a damn about his bodily functions. Blood poured from his nose, most likely induced by great stress, but he couldn't focus on anything but getting answers.

He wanted a name for the Saiyan, but the woman played the fool, stuttering out useless babble whenever the prince demanded it. She was lucid now, coming down from her orgasmic high, and she trembled violently beneath him.

"It is impossible!" Vegeta screamed for what felt like the thousandth time, saliva and blood flying from his lips. "I watched them die! Give me a name, cunning bitch!”

She tried to calm him, but he slapped away her offending hands. The prince then grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently, as if the answer would just come tumbling out and spill onto the floor.

"Is it Raditz? Nappa?"

"What? Who?" the woman mumbled, struggling to orient herself after being jostled.

Vegeta grabbed her by the throat and slammed her head against the wall. "Do you know a man with a tail like mine?" he growled, trying to refrain from restricting her ability to talk, but his grip was only getting tighter the longer she remained silent.

Her reply came out in a strangled huff. "Yes."

"Tell me his name."

This was it, the moment the prince would finally be vindicated after his constant torment. The moment that he would begin to believe in something other than despair again.

If the answer was Raditz, he would punch that asshole in the face before running his fingers through the wild mane of hair. Vegeta was never the affectionate type, but he was suddenly forlorn at the thought of never tugging on the tall man’s locks again or seeing them get snagged on all manners of doors.

If Nappa was still alive, the prince would demean that giant oaf while relishing his loyalty and drinking in the bald man’s praises. After the death of Vegeta-sei, Nappa had been the closest thing resembling a father figure, though the elder was actually quite ignorant and brutish.

Vegeta hadn't realized how much he needed either of them until that moment, but the one glimmering reflection of an alternate life was shattered the moment the woman finally responded to his question.

"His name is Goku!" she cried out, tugging at the hands wound dangerously around her neck. “G-Goku.” She was stammering now, her eyes wild and actions frantic.

When the prince didn't release her just yet, a curious look flickered on her pale face and she stopped clamoring for escape. Slowly, she brought a hand to Vegeta’s face, stroking his sweat-laced skin, but he pulled away from her imploring touch.

Only minutes ago, he would've leaned in further, curious as to how those fingertips would momentarily make him forget who he was and what he had been through, but now things had changed. Whether she had intended to or not, the woman had undone all the carefully suppressed rage within him and all he could see was the death of his makeshift family at the hands of Frieza.

He knew one of them was alive, but even the simple answer evaded him because of the bitch beneath his hands.

“His name is not Goku,” the prince stated, measuring out his words. Sweat slicked his hands and loosened his hold on the woman’s textured neck.

“Yes it is,” she replied with wide blue eyes, veracity evident in their clarity.

“No!”

“Yes!” the woman fired back hotly.

Vegeta grit his teeth before trying a different tactic. “Does he have long hair or no hair?”

“It's… not long, but not short,” she explained. “It's spiky and goes in all directions. Black hair and eyes…. like yours. Tall. Lean.”

With all the calm he could muster, the prince removed his hand from the woman and watched as she crumpled to the ground in a defeated heap. She began to inspect her neck, but kept her fiery eyes on him as he paced the floor.

This was getting nowhere. Every meeting with the infernal woman left him furious and seething and yet she was supposed to be helping. Now he was left with more questions than answers and he was slowly becoming insane from the lack of information and this moment was no different.

If one thing was certain, she was lying to him. The Saiyan she had described was a ghost in a young Vegeta’s memory, always on the outskirts of his mind. He could barely remember the man, a third-class grunt whom the king considered the only true warrior of his social standing.

But really, the description could be of any of the lower class Saiyans, not just Bardock.

The prince turned back to his guest, cracking his knuckles and flexing his eager hands. “Let us try this again,” he growled, staring down at his prey. “The man’s name is _not_  Goku- of this I am certain- so who is he? Are you certain he has a tail? Never fucking lie to me if you intended to evade true pain.”

The woman blinked up at the sight of him before furrowing her brow, determination coloring her eyes once more.

“His name _is_  Goku,” she whispered confidently, tilting her jaw up in expectation.

She was smart; she knew what was coming.

Vegeta had run out of patience.

He punched her frail body until she managed to stumble away from his assault and out of the cell, all the while holding onto that one word.

“Goku.”

* * *

 

Bulma flinched at the feeling of Frieza’s cold hands gliding along her exposed stomach. She was lying on an examination table in the infirmary, bare except for the strips of cloth covering her chest and pelvis.

Not that she had much modesty left at this point. The men in her daily life had practically taken it all.

Goku had taken advantage of her subconsciously, worming his way into her heart and concern with his sweet temperament and protectiveness.

Frieza- with his manipulation and violation of her body through deception. His drugs still swam in her veins, but now she was nearly sober, able to come to terms with just how much of herself had been lost.

She had been so consumed by the aphrodisiac that she couldn't deny the prince’s effect on her. He had been yelling, his clipped voice telling her to touch herself in order to speed the drugs through her system, and had it been another being- either Frieza or another lizard- she would've just suffered in silence. But the truth was, Bulma knew what she was getting herself into.

When she entered his cell to find him stripped down as usual with the only cloth covering him being the black shorts hugging his pelvis tightly, she knew it was far worse than what she had been feeling towards Goku only minutes before.

So when the prince was close, rambling on about plans and escape, Bulma tried hard to focus, struggling against her body’s reaction to him. He smelled foul from his days of captivity, but even that detail faded away whenever he had admitted that Frieza had been apart of his life for quite sometime.

And there it was, the creature’s greatest lie unfurled before her, yet all she could feel was a twinge of sympathy for the prince. She had let her paranoia slip away, something she couldn't even bring herself to do with Goku, and when his lips had met her ear and he suggested that she give herself release, she did so.

Bulma listened to him. She let him ruin her and then his wrath turned on her once more at the discovery of Goku. Would they ever have an encounter that didn't end in agony?

“You are lucky that he was weakened,” Frieza declared, hovering above her form sprawled out on the table. “His blows were merely superficial and it appears that there is no internal damage. You may sit up.”

Bulma did as instructed, bringing up the cloth covering her as well, clutching the fabric to her skin. She opened her mouth to reply, but the creature stopped her.

“I would ask you what occurred after you ran off from my gathering, but I spared you the trouble by viewing the tape,” Frieza explained, grasping his hands behind him. He seemed so large to her, but in reality, the table was just extremely low to the ground.

Bulma let out a breathy sigh. “I'm sorry, I just-”

“Do not bother with excuses. I do not have time for pandering for sympathy. You will understand better soon enough.”

Looking up through the fringe of her bangs, Bulma tried to implore the creature for mercy with wide eyes. She could've begged, but somehow she couldn't force herself to make the sounds.

“Dress and follow me,” he instructed curtly.

Frieza turned his back and though the action was unnecessary in light of past events, Bulma was grateful for the privacy. She winced at the pain emanating from the grotesque network of bruises now covering her abdomen, but she managed to slip a fresh bodysuit on.

Minutes later, Frieza led her to small room with a few chairs and a large screen on the wall. She was told to sit while he paced at the front, playing with his clawed hands.

“I could delve into great detail about the trouble you have conjured up for me, but you are fortunate that I am adaptable,” the creature declared. “While I certainly did not expect you to become so pliable in the prince’s hands, I can see the value of such an encounter for your mission. But now, I have a mess to clean up.”

Bulma wanted him to clarify or at least explain the prince’s fascination with another of his species, but she remained quiet until he spoke once more.

“Let us proceed with a small reminder of your precarious situation,” Frieza stated, narrowing his blood-red eyes. He pointed towards the screen on the wall before moving to turn off the lights in the back of the room.

Once the black descended, the creature didn't move to sit beside her and Bulma was left listening anxiously for him in the dark. Soon, a soft glow emanated from the screen and her vision was consumed by an image of Goku.

He was nude and shackled, confined to a small space. The angle of the video was high up, as if taken from the corner of the room. Bulma’s friend looked sleepy, and she recognized the telltale signs of him being heavily medicated.

He was also grinning stupidly, rocking back and forth as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Minutes later, he perked up as someone approached, and a large, bulky man came into view.

“When I bought Goku, his masters sent this video to prove his usefulness,” Frieza suddenly declared from behind her, and Bulma jumped upon hearing the shrill voice after being so absorbed by the images playing out on the screen. “I was really only interested in him because he was the same as Vegeta, but I kept the tape out of amusement.”

Bulma tried to turn her head toward Frieza, but a hand clutched the nape of her neck and squeezed in warning, so she kept her attention back on the video.

Now, the bulky man was whispering to Goku while he leaned down to check the prisoner’s body. Seemingly satisfied, the strange man stood up and gestured off-screen. A woman was brought into view, shaking in her captor’s hold.

She screamed and begged to be released, but she was thrown down violently onto the floor. The bulky men began to yell and curse at her, all while Goku watched on with heavy eyes and disinterest.

One of the captors grabbed the woman’s hair and yanked her head up until she was staring at the other prisoner.

“Do you think she is pretty?” the man asked Goku in a mocking tone.

Bulma’s friend nodded slowly, head lolling around at the action.

The woman was released and the large men began to unshackle Goku.

“Why don't you show her how pretty you think she is?”

Though he was drugged and swaying on his feet, Bulma thought Goku would at least refuse or collapse to the ground, but she was wrong.

A sickening grin crawled onto her friend’s face and he began to approach the terrified woman sprawled in front of him.

“So pretty….” Goku murmured, bringing his hand to his quickly growing groin.

Despite Frieza’s hold on her, Bulma wrenched her head away from the tape and averted her eyes. “Stop,” she spat. “I get it.”

“Do you, Miss Briefs?” Frieza questioned from behind her. “Because I thought you understood before, but you proved otherwise. I wonder how much it would take to convince Goku to admit that he finds you pretty as well. Probably not much, am I correct?” The creature leaned over until he was speaking into her ear. “I wonder how much you would fight him off?”

Bulma began to refute the lewd proposition, but her words caught in her throat as loud moans began to fill the room along with a wet, slapping sound. She had heard Goku’s voice so many times, but never like this.

It was disturbing in a profound way.

That sweet innocent man whose feather-light touches had soothed her into slumber just days ago was capable of becoming a brutal monster who took what he wanted.

“I understand! STOP IT!” Bulma screamed, hearing her desperation reach an unprecedented high. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard to soothe her abused throat.

Suddenly the noises stopped and she dared to open her eyes to find that the lights had been turned on as well.

Frieza was standing by the wall with pursed lips. “That is all for today,” he declared dryly. “You are prohibited from visiting the prince until I can mend the damage you have done. Until then, you are to work on the project. If I sense even the slightest bit of disobedience from you….. well, do I really need to threaten you?”

Silence fell upon the room and Bulma got the sense that Frieza was waiting for her reply, so she took a deep breath before exhaling a shaky, “No, Sir”.

Satisfied, the creature gave her a soft grin, and even days later, Bulma couldn't get the image of it out of her mind.

She had done as instructed and stayed away from the prince, going through her daily routine just as she had when she first arrived there. She threw herself into her work in the lab, barely registering the subtle ways she was bending to the will of those around her.

Goku now slept in her bed every night. He didn't really ask her permission, he just kind of crawled underneath the sheets one night and things didn't change after that. He held her tightly in his slumber and she often stared at his angelic face, contemplating the horrors he had been forced to commit in a past life.

Her torso was still bruised, but she kept her skin hidden from her roommate with increasing ease. He still didn't dare to peek at her in the shower and she didn't know whether to be relieved or frustrated. It had become easier to believe that Goku was like the rest- secretly planning her torment and demise, but he never proved her wrong. He was unwavering and attentive and it made her all the more numb.

Bulma simply couldn't stomach what she was doing to him every day.

The nights had become long, but the days seemed to stretch into forever, taunting her with mundane normality. She ate like everyone else, listened in the meetings, and added her input when asked.

Science remained unchanged and she lost herself in her lab work, trying to push away the thoughts of escape. There was no way out, so there was no use in spending time on such fallacies.

Soon, her thoughts began to bleed into background noise and Bulma barely registered her surroundings or interaction anymore. She was a shell- a machine. She didn't even feel the ache inside her chest anymore when Goku tried to take care of her. She just let him help her into bed; let his fingers play on her skin and his lips grace her forehead.

One evening after dinner, Goku went so far as to make her promise to head back to the room to rest because he was concerned about her current state. He said she looked sick and that he feared she would pass out or something if she tried to work more.

He wanted to be there to watch over her, but the lizards had been making him do extra training lately, and it wasn't uncommon for him to arrive at their quarters late at night, covered in sweat.

With a weak smile, Bulma nodded along, shuffling out of the dining hall. She had intended on doing as her friend suggested, but she suddenly remembered that the next morning’s project meeting involved a showcase of the restraints she had developed for the prince and she hadn't quite finished them yet.

When she arrived at the lab, she justified her actions by promising to only work for an hour or so before heading back to her room to rest. She would be fine on her own for just that little bit.

As she inspected the metal of the cuffs, she became curious about just how much strength the prince actually possessed, and she dug out the file Frieza had given to her with the prisoner’s statistics. She had glanced at it a few times, but she mainly used Goku to measure the restraints’ effectiveness.

As she flipped through it, she stopped when she came to the section about his physiology. She thought back over how concerned the prince had been with finding out who he had smelled on Bulma that night in his cell. He had thrown around a few names, but quickly became desperate for her to confirm that the man was indeed the same as him.

Could it be that he thought he was the only one?

Frieza had warned her to not let them smell each other on her like it was some sort of weird male thing…. but what if it was more than that?

What if….

Bulma’s hand stilled on the paper beneath her.

Shock was the first real emotion she had felt in sometime and she let it flow through her.

Frieza didn't want the prince to know another of his kind existed. She wasn't sure why, but the man’s desperation sparked something in the abandoned corners of her mind.

She was missing something important….

“Busy?”

An unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the lab and Bulma turned to find an unexpected visitor standing in the doorway. She rubbed her eyes and blinked.

“Jeru?”

She hadn't really interacted much with the blonde human except for in project meetings, and most notably, when he had mouthed her during the first meeting for not understanding what “gaslighting” was. In general, she tried to avoid him as much as possible because he creeped her out with his eagerness to torture and abuse. If she was lucky, he rarely even gave her a passing glance, but now he was standing in her lab with a grin that made her blood curdle in her veins.

“Yes, I'm busy,” Bulma snapped, closing the file in front of her and shuffling around objects on her desk. Perhaps if she didn't react strongly to his presence, he would leave quicker.

A few agonizing moments flittered by before Bulma heard the door shut. She dared to look over her shoulder, holding her breath, but it was quickly knocked out of her chest by the sight of Jeru once more.

He hadn't left and now he was much closer, standing by the examination table that Goku often sat on when testing out her restraints.

“Can I help you with something?” Bulma inquired, annoyance seeping into her tone. She turned her chair around and crossed her arms, hoping to intimidate the man into leaving.

Jeru gave her a curious glance before looking around the room, his light eyes taking in the scenery torturously slow. “I'm curious, Bulma, so may I ask you a personal question?” His eyes landed on her with dead weight behind them.

Straightening her posture, Bulma nodded but didn't surrender any words.

“I like to think of myself as a very observant guy, but for some reason, I just can't figure it out,” Jeru sneered, crossing his long legs in front of him as he put his weight on the table behind him.

“Figure what out?” Bulma was growing impatient and increasingly unnerved at his unexpected visit.

A smile crawled onto Jeru’s face but he quickly shook it away. “I can't seem to decide which one them you're fucking- the prisoner or Frieza,” he declared loudly. “Either way, your actions aren't going unnoticed.”

Bulma didn't know what to expect out of the man’s mouth but it certainly wasn't that. If he was that much of an ass to insinuate that she was a whore, then the likely person to connect her to would be Goku.

But this…

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Jeru pushed away from the table to get right in her face. He rested his hands on either side of her chair, locking her in. “You're sabotaging our efforts somehow and you're getting away with it!” he spat. “I know the prince is getting help and Frieza refuses to notice, so I'll ask again- who have you spread those pretty legs for and why?”

Trapped between the intruder’s arms, Bulma reeled from the question. Her first thought was that she had been discovered and that Frieza would consider their deal broken, but she knew better. The creature was too observant and manipulative to let suspicion arise in the others. It was more likely that Jeru had yet to go to the lizard directly, instead preferring to confront her first.

With all the strength she had in her exhausted body, Bulma shoved Jeru away, kicking out her legs in threat.

“If you think I'm doing something so ridiculous, then why not go to Frieza himself?” she shouted down at the man on the floor. “Why not have him deal with the ’traitor’?”

“I thought of that, but we all see the way he looks at you,” Jeru explained coolly. “We hear the rumors that you go off alone with him.”

“Alone to discuss the project!” Bulma retorted, rising from her chair and moving to grab the prince’s file and leave.

A leg shot out and tripped her, sending her tumbling onto the floor. Papers erupted from her arms, swirling into the air and littering the ground haphazardly.

Before she could move, Jeru was on her back, pinning her down with a knee on her spine. She screamed at the pain shooting up her back and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Tell me!” the man demanded from above her.

“Why do you… care?” Bulma choked out, trying to push herself up, but Jeru was relentless.

The pressure on her back was getting steadily stronger and she began to lose feeling in her lower half. She would give anything to have listened to Goku and gone straight back to their room. He was nowhere near her lab, and even if she could scream, he wouldn't hear.

No one would.

Jeru leaned over her until he was practically breathing down her neck. “I care because that royal bastard is responsible for all the shit that has happened to me! To us! He needs to suffer like an animal because that's what he made us. Why can't you understand that?”

Bulma wanted to protest the flaw in his logic and point out that all their information about the prince came from Frieza and that it couldn't be trusted. The fact that the others were so jaded that they were willing to look past common decency and let themselves become consumed by vengeance spoke volumes.

There was no reasoning with the insane.

A hand was wound into Bulma’s blue tresses and her head was yanked back violently, forcing her cheek to come into contact with Jeru’s mouth. His breath doused her skin with a sickly humidity and she yanked away from his hold, feeling some of her hair tear from her scalp.

She shrieked at the sensation, but her momentary freedom afforded her the opportunity to scramble for an escape. Her strained eyes darted around the room, searching for something to use as a weapon. Since she was prone on the floor, she noticed a discarded set of cuffs underneath the examination table. Though they were heavy, Goku had been able to break them, so Bulma had tossed them away in frustration and she was now grateful for her oversight.

With every ounce of strength she had left, she stretched her body forward, straining the muscles of her upper body impossibly. She felt Jeru’s weight shift and he tried to restrain her, but Bulma lunged forward, pushing her knees against the cold floor with bruising force.

Finally, her fingers brushed against the cuffs and she curled her hand around one chunk of metal and used her remaining strength to flip her self over, the momentum sending her makeshift weapon crashing right into Jeru’s head.

Her assailant let out an piercing wail and fell off of her, clutching his skull. Crimson began to peek between his fingers, but he shook off his surprise and leapt toward Bulma once more.

Without a thought, she slammed the cuffs into his head again, feeling his flesh give way to the weighty metal. Jeru’s eyes widened impossibly and the terror that flashed in them was intoxicating.

Bulma had gone so long feeling utterly powerless, that this small victory invigorated her more than it shouldn't have. For all her judgment and scolding of the brutality of the others’ treatment of the prince, she became consumed with her sudden power- her only true choice.

Jeru had intended to victimize her and yet there she was, kneeling before him unscathed. His face twisted into a sinister smirk despite the blood trailing down his skin and Bulma saw a familiar face in his expression.

Frieza.

She couldn't bear it any longer. Her heart raced as she brought her arm back even as her exhausted muscles protested and quivered, but the force behind her blows was not affected.

She struck Jeru numerous times, feeling droplets of his life’s essence fall into her flushed face. The weapon in her hands became slick, and she struggled to maintain a grip on the cuffs amidst the liquid coating her hands.

Somewhere during the rage, her eyes had slipped shut, Jeru had stopped whimpering, and now a deafening silence had nestled its way into her tortured mind.

With a gasping breath, Bulma dropped the cuffs, hearing the metal clang loudly against the ground. Her lashes felt heavy with blood and saltwater and she refused to open her eyes lest reality set in, sealing her complete loss of innocence.

So she remained still, squeezing her eyes shut, shivering in the aftermath. All she had wanted was peace and quiet, the kind of luxury that even Frieza couldn't bribe her with.

But even in this silence, the voices in her head refused to cease.

Then one voice broke through- a voice she knew too well.

“Bulma?”

She finally opened her eyes, blinking against the stinging pain. Her weary gaze fell open onto Goku, standing in the doorway with skin as pale as a ghost.

He took in the sight before him with trepidation before stepping from the doorway and barely into the room. “You’ve been lying to me,” her friend stated, staring down at the remnants of Jeru’s once smug face.

“What?” Bulma shouted, unable to recognize her volume over the blood rushing in her ears. It was getting harder to focus on anything but the color red.

It was everywhere.

Goku carefully made his way to her, stepping around the body on the floor until he was leaning in front of her, his features stern.

He didn't say anything, so Bulma tried to fill the awkward silence.

“What part did you see?” she asked, wondering why he didn't step in if he had been standing there.

Her friend swallowed hard before taking her trembling, blood-soaked hands in his. “I didn't see anything. I heard you,” Goku explained, his voice higher-pitched and shaking. “You were screaming ’Frieza’ over and over.”

Bulma felt her world shift, and she tore her eyes away from Goku and glanced at Jeru.

It was impossible… she had thought about the creature for one moment when she had let anger consume her, but after that it faded into defense, right?

She had been defending herself from Jeru.

She wasn't a murderer.

She wasn't a monster.

She wasn't….

She wasn't…

“Bulma, I know you've been hiding something from me,” Goku declared. “I'm not going to let you lie to me any more. You need help.”

She brought her gaze back to Goku and felt an urge to shut him up, to manipulate him so that this would all go away. He couldn't ask questions. He couldn't think on his own. It was dangerous and it contradicted the instinct to survive.

The sudden slap of her bloody hands on his cheeks resounded throughout the room, but Bulma continued to cradle Goku’s face in her palms.

“Do you think I'm pretty?” she asked breathlessly, bringing him closer to her. He didn't resist, instead leaning into her touch and she nearly cursed at how easy he was to placate.

Goku didn't answer her question, so she asked it again, ghosting her lips over his, sharing his breaths. He shuddered visibly and bit his bottom lip, bringing the full, plump flesh into his mouth.

“So pretty…,” he murmured against her mouth and Bulma shut her eyes as she closed the distance between them.

But where she was supposed to taste the sweetness of Goku’s welcoming mouth, she suddenly tasted air and she balked as her friend pushed her away roughly.

“No!” Goku exclaimed, fisting his hands into his hair. “You don't get to do that any more! I like you and you know that and I may not care when I'm on my medicine, but I haven't taken it today and I can feel your energy when you lie to me! Stop it! Stop it! Stop-”

“What did you just say?” Bulma shouted, lunging on top of her friend like a crazed animal. When he didn't answer, she screamed. “Tell me what you just said!”

“I- I can feel your energy fluctuate…. when you lie…”

Bulma immediately jumped to her feet, her boots struggling to find purchase in the puddle of blood, but she rushed around the room frantically, picking up the scattered remnants of the prince’s file. Her hands left a trail of crimson as she fingered the papers until she found the section detailing his biology once more.

Frieza had informed them of the prisoner’s energy-manipulating abilities, probably hoping that they would develop something to suppress his strength, even going so far as to acquire Goku as a test subject because of his shared heritage, but the creature had miscalculated.

Surely he had never intended for someone like Bulma to recognize the potential suppressed within Goku and the prince. Frieza had relied too heavily on his ability to control and his arrogance would be his downfall.

Slowly, Bulma rose from the floor and turned to find Goku now standing at attention. She wound her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her level. “Stop taking the medicine and don't let them know,” she whispered heatedly before turning and walking out of the door.

Goku didn't follow.

By the time her feet brought her to Frieza’s quarters, the crimson coating her skin had dried, but the lizards standing guard didn't seem startled by her appearance. They merely nodded before opening the large doors to hell, and standing in the middle of the lavish room, waiting for her, was the devil himself.

“My, I do not believe you have ever looked quite as exquisite as you do now,” Frieza cooed with a wine-stained grin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Bulma squared her shoulders and looked evil right in his beady red eyes. “I'm ready,” she stated boldly. “I'm going to finish what I started with the prince and then you will let me and Goku go. No questions asked.”

Frieza clucked his tongue in contemplation. “You speak as if you hold all the power,” he observed dryly.

Holding up her blood-stained hands, Bulma didn't let her gaze waver for a second.

“I do,” she declared, no longer afraid. “Now, let’s make a new deal.”

 

 


	10. (Halo)

_You wear guilt_   
_like shackles on your feet-_   
_like a halo in reverse._   
_I can feel_   
_the discomfort in your seat,_   
_and in your head it's worse._

* * *

 

  
_”You need to give me control.”_

Bulma didn't quite understand the sudden fervor that overtook her, but it was strong and hot-blooded, consuming every thought.

It was survival in its purest form.

That's what she told herself, standing under the spray of the shower, watching crimson wash from her skin and circle down the drain in the floor.

No one knew better than her what it felt like to adapt. She was a prodigy and her mind developed at an early age, ripe with critical thinking skills and fortitude. She always imagined using her talents to create or to repair, but she had never once considered that she would need to use her brains for something other than machinery.

Now, she was the broken machine and there was a desperate flaw in her coding- a cry for help that would go unanswered unless she shifted her frame of mind. So when it seemed impossible to go on, Bulma took herself apart and examined the finer pieces, the things that gave her hope.

Goku was the only thing keeping her alive and she both resented and delighted in that fact. She hated how easily she lied to protect him, yet her concern for him kept her human and made her feel something more than an empty numbness.

And the prince..... well he was the part that wouldn't fit, the cog that screeched and violently protested being used, and yet without him, she wouldn't survive and neither would Goku. Had he been a normal prisoner, Frieza would've killed him by now and if he wasn't considered dangerous to the lizard, then Frieza wouldn't be keeping him under such careful watch.

So she would have to lubricate the prince and make this machine run smoother.

She would have to get her hands dirty.

_”You want control?” Frieza inquired, staring at the blood now flaking off her hands. “I do not believe you have the temperament for more responsibility, Bulma. Not after what happened to poor Jeru. That is quite the mess I will have to get cleaned up.”_

It had been difficult for Bulma to curb the tremors ravaging her body and muster up enough courage to demand her freedom, but it seemed that her candor paid off.

_”I don't know why you want to break him so badly or who you both really are, but what you're doing won't work,” Bulma explained, choosing her words carefully. “The prince said that he has known you for a long time. Whatever you can possibly plan for him, he expects it and it gives him the advantage.”_

_Frieza’s coy expression dissolved instantly, replaced by a seething hate. “Why do you think you were brought here?” he spat, turning from her to stalk deeper into his quarters. “The problem is not that I cannot break him, the problem is that he needs me to. He needs to be made a martyr for his people and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.”_

The water was scalding now, but Bulma felt like no amount of cleansing could wash away the coating of guilt covering her skin just under Jeru’s blood. She wasn't born capable of this changeling life, but the fear of being forced to live while dead inside was an excellent teacher.

_”That's the most honest you've ever been with me,” Bulma observed, watching Frieza’s tail swish in aggravation._

_The creature turned around abruptly and scowled. “Why are you so concerned with how I treat my animals?” he growled. “I give you everything in exchange for obedience and yet you dare to question my methods.”_

She could’ve been grateful for Frieza’s favor, but her physical safety was no longer a priority. She couldn't watch herself become like him. She couldn't become so jaded to perverse desires and brutal torture.

Standing there, covered in another man’s blood, Bulma had laid everything she had on the line.

_”What happened with Jeru tonight…. I'm losing my mind. I can't eat. I can't think. I need to get out and I need to take Goku with me. I'm willing to do whatever it takes. You forced this job on me and yet you prevent me from doing it at every possible turn. Your way isn't working, so give me control.”_

_“You dare to give orders to me?” Frieza’s voice was shrill, but bellowing, filling the room with an echo that Bulma swore she could feel reverberating in her bones._

_“A month,” she declared. “Give me a month alone with him and I'll break him beyond recognition. There has to be some sort of dire situation you can create to make him grow attached to me.”_

_Her bold statement earned her a sly look from Frieza over his shoulder. His slanted eyes were narrowed but a smile blossomed on his face revealing tiny little rows of teeth. “Be careful what you wish for my dear,” he purred, causing Bulma to cock her head in confusion. “Is that not one of your Earth sayings? But if you insist on stepping into my role, I will be sure to immerse you completely if you truly want your freedom.”_

_“I do.”_

_Frieza clucked his tongue then shocked heist guest by bowing graciously towards the ground. When he lifted his face, his gaze was sparkling like blood-drenched crystal. “Then be sure to give Goku a proper farewell. You have one monthly cycle as this planet orbits its giant star.”_

The air became stifling as Bulma hung her head, furrowing her brows at the marbled floor of the shower room. She thought everything had been so simple: a prisoner, a sadistic enemy, and unwitting help procured to torture said prisoner.

She slammed her palm against the slick surface of the shower wall in sheer frustration. How could she agree to do something that was most likely going to get her killed regardless of her intentions? Yet she had no choice. If anyone could kill Frieza, it was the prince, and if anyone could help Goku understand his hidden strength, it was the prince.

Strange how they were brought here to destroy him, yet she hoped he would be their savior. But the time for thinking was over and now all she could do was set her plan in motion and hold her breath.

Goku was still awake when she returned to the room, sitting up in his bed and staring at the wall. He didn't greet her like usual, but she understood his detachment.

She had just killed a man in front of him and she didn't feel a single thing inside. Instead, she had been more concerned with her sudden realization of Goku’s potential power.

Who would want to cheerfully embrace their friend after something like that?

“Is it strange that I don't feel bad?” Goku asked suddenly. His voice was sullen, while he swung his legs off the edge of the bed like a small child. “That guy is dead and you were….. I didn't even flinch, Bulma. All I could think about was the fact that you were keeping secrets from me.”

Bulma swallowed hard and ran her fingers through her damp hair before replying with a shaky breath. “If that’s bad, then it's worse for me to feel relieved.” It felt good to get that horrifying fact off her chest. She smiled weakly at the floor, avoiding her friend’s gaze.

Hopping off the bed, Goku shuffled over to her, bringing his slouched form to a stop. “You're not going to tell me what's going on, are you?” he asked, lifting her chin gently and bringing his sorrowful dark eyes to hers.

“No,” Bulma answered honestly, shrugging. When Goku’s gaze continued to bore into her, she straightened up and held her head high. “I'm asking you trust me. Even though we haven't known each other long, you know I wouldn't hurt you…. or myself.”

The words left her mouth slowly, heavy with truth. She may lie to him to protect him from the terrors of his past and she may overlook his gentle caresses knowing they meant much more to him, but she would never spite him.

“You're the only thing I have left,” she admitted, the realization hitting her all at once. The other captives may have families or old acquaintances to run to if ever offered freedom, but not her.

She only had Goku.

“You're the only thing I've ever had,” Goku replied quietly, causing Bulma’s eyes to widen impossibly. A healthy blush spread across his creamy flesh as he averted his eyes and her heart began to race.

_”Then be sure to give Goku a proper farewell.”_

Frieza’s words bounced around in her mind, reminding her of why she was hiding secrets in the first place.

“I’m going to be working with Frieza a little more from now on,” she explained with a sigh. “I don't know how often I'll see you.”

Goku snapped his head back to her and frowned. “I don't trust him, Bulma!” he complained, his speech becoming quicker with apprehension. “Not after everything and especially not after Jeru! It's not right for someone to keep overlooking all these things happening to you and-”

Placing a slender finger to his pink lips, Bulma silenced him with a stern look. “You don't have to trust him or anynone else. Just me,” she declared. “Do you trust me?”

Goku nodded slowly against her finger, his mouth brushing her flesh as his lips parted. He pulled away and awkwardly placed his hands by his sides. “I do trust you….. just promise me you will be careful. I don't want to lose you.”

“You won't,” she assured softly. “I promise as long as you promise to do what I told you in the lab. Do you remember?”

Nodding once more, determination flashed in Goku’s eyes, and Bulma began to believe that they may actually be able to save themselves. She couldn't tell him everything; it was far too dangerous and she knew that his ignorance would be valuable in case Frieza decided to question him. But even this small victory sparked a fire of hope and the man in front of her was the ever-glowing ember.

She watched her friend turn away, walking towards his disheveled bed, but he suddenly stopped and turned back to her, playing with his large hands and looking at the floor. “When do you start working with him?”

Bulma let out a heavy sigh and groaned. “Tomorrow morning, so I need to get to bed.” She move towards her side of the room, but Goku slid into her path, blocking her.

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and his face was a red as the blood that had coated her hands only hours ago. “If you don't know when I'll see you next, then I want to make the most of tonight.”

In all her years, Bulma had never been the object of someone’s desire. She had seen the other women being seduced either by other captives or potential masters, but despite her inexperience, Goku’s words held a weight that she instantly recognized. She knew what he meant and yet her mind seemed frozen, stuck running the last few seconds over and over in her mind.

She hesitated for what seemed like hours, yet Goku never once forced himself on her or demanded an answer. He wanted nothing from her except her trust and company and he was the only being not taking advantage of her for either her intellect or her usefulness.

The tenderness in his dark gaze was all Bulma needed to see before she closed her eyes and leaned forward, letting herself fall. Goku’s plush lips caught her and unlike their first kiss, this contact was slower, more tantalizing with exploration that made her body sing.

He pulled her into him, ran his hands up her back and wound greedy fingers into her hair, tasting her without abandon.

She wondered briefly if she should care that he had many intimate encounters with women in his past, but somehow she felt like this was an entirely different man born out of their bond. This was her Goku, and in her eyes he was a saint.

The question was, was she his angel? His savior? Should he ever discover all that she had done for him, would he be grateful?

She wanted an answer before things went further, but Bulma didn't have time to think before they were tangled up in the sheets on her bed, mouths connecting repeatedly before parting for brief interludes of air. Goku hovered above her, his body trapping her, but she certainly wasn't a prisoner.

His lips moved to her neck and she bared the long pale column as small stuttering moans began to fall from her lips. The sounds instantly conjured up memories of what she had done to herself while the prince had watched on and she noticed a dangerous precedent regarding the men in her daily life.

But that instance in the cell had just been survival and this was…..

What exactly? Desire? Lust? Love?

She couldn't answer that, because the moment she had thought of the prince and the way he had breathed down her neck as her hand inched beneath her dress, the prisoner became all she could think about.

His dark eyes roaming over her as he crouched before her and crawling with a hungry look in his eyes. The deep timbre of his voice as he growled, a sound that made her stomach quake in terror but her skin light on fire.

There may have been clues about a possible attraction to him, but as Goku gently kissed her body, working his way down her neck to her clothed chest, Bulma suddenly realized the most terrifying thing about the situation she was in.

She had just agreed to spend a month trying to break the prince when she had been suppressing an unbridled curiosity about him. Curiosity that she had mistaken for trivial and innocent, but ever since she first laid hands on him while Frieza introduced them to his unconscious body, there had been something steadily growing deep within her.

She tried to cut it down after their first encounter in the strange tank room, and once more when she had begged him to kill her. But it remained like a cancer that she didn't even acknowledge until she was given the diagnosis.

Should she fight it? Why did she care so much when he rarely ever occupied her thoughts until moments such as these?

Goku was above her stomach now, running his fingers over the blue fabric covering her skin with awe. His head was cocked and his lips were quivering but his eyes were soft as he brought them to her. “Tell me if I go too far,” he whispered, leaning back on his haunches to look her over. His face was several different shades of red and pink and just watching him struggle against shyness made her apprehensive too.

Bulma shifted anxiously, her hips straddled by his long torso. “We don't have to do anything if it will upset you,” she offered, noting the way he was chewing on his bottom lip. She almost wished he would stop them, stop her from this sacrilege, but he didn't.

He let out a huff of air before sucking in a deep breath. A second later, Goku began to peel off his shirt, stretching the tight fabric over his head before tossing it to the ground.

Dark eyes landed on her and she watched on, stunned as he crawled off the bed and hooked his hands into the waistband of his clingy pants. He paused to collect himself before his shaky voice echoed off the walls.

“I don't want to scare you away Bulma, but don't give yourself to me if you don't intend to stay,” he declared, his once soft features becoming stern. The look caused a shiver to flow through her prone body, but she silenced her fear. Goku would never hurt her. “I told you that you're the only thing I've ever had, and I want it to stay that way.”

Bulma didn't know what to say. She sat up and carded her fingers through her hair before letting her arms fall back to the bed. “When did you decide that you wanted me?” she asked, both terrified and eager to hear the answer.

His gaze was level as he replied with veracity in his strong voice. “The moment I met you.”

Her silence must've been taken positively because in the next few seconds, Goku was bare before her. He crawled back over her and helped her out of her suit since she was shaking too much to do it herself.

She should've told him about the traitorous thoughts in her mind and that she loved him as family, as a friend, but she didn't stop him because her mind kept replacing him with another who was so similar, yet so foreign.

Once she was exposed, Goku actually let out a shuddering gasp much to Bulma’s surprise. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered reverently, running his hands over her. She could feel the pulse beneath his skin. “Even when you're hurt, you're just so beautiful.”

“Goku, I need to-”

A finger came to her lips, a mockery of her earlier silencing of him, and he smiled down at her with a look born from deep emotion. “You don't need to trust anyone else, just me.” He repeated her words sweetly.

Did he know about her betrayal?

But how could he know that when his lips met her bare stomach that she was thinking of another?

It was as if he was asking her to let him have this one shred of affection despite her hesitation.

Beneath that confident facade was desperation, and who was she to deny him happiness? Wasn't she already willing to take a bullet for him everyday?

What's one more day…. one more kiss….

Bulma jumped when his mouth settled between her parted thighs and of all the sensations in the world, she wanted this one to last forever. She had never heard of such a lewd act, yet she spread her legs further and mewled as his strong hands gripped her legs and held her down.

Every sweep of his textured tongue made her hips stutter forward and her head rear back. She bit her lip against the sweet bliss but eventually she went slack-jawed and the most depraved sounds tumbled out of her mouth between labored pants.

“G-Goku…”

His attention was suddenly diverted and she lifted her head to find him staring at her with wide eyes, his chin glistening with evidence of her desire. He frowned and shook his head. “You don't like it,” he pouted. “I've…. never done this before, but I've heard that it's the most selfless act a man can do for…. a woman’s pleasure. I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you because of who I used to be.” His face was no longer flushed with passion, but sullen and forlorn, completely dejected.

Bulma trailed a trembling hand down to the apex of her thighs and returned with slick fingertips. The sight alone brought her back to the cell with the prince and before she could scold herself, she pondered what it would be like to have his offensive mouth on her and she was ashamed.

Ashamed at the person she had become.

Even now, with a man that cared so deeply for her, she couldn't bring herself to simply exist instead of trying to survive. Her thoughts of the prince despite their encounters nearly ending in death or bodily harm were nothing but a defense mechanism to spare herself the pain of becoming attached to another.

Yet, she physically couldn't cause Goku pain by turning him away; just the thought made her heart ache profusely.

Instead, she remained silent, relaxing her body until her head once again rested on the mattress. Seconds later, her friend returned to her femininity with fervor and Bulma was tired of overthinking, so she shut her eyes and let emotion flow through her like a cleansing flood.

By the time Goku finally left her for the promise of rest beneath the sheets, Bulma had shouted his name so often that her throat was raw and the muscles of her legs were tight from the constant flexing of her toes.

Once she was settled into bed, she pointed out his obvious need which jutted out from his pelvis, swollen and begging for attention, but he merely shook his head before carefully pulling his pants back on and turning off the lights.

“It's not about what I want,” he whispered in the dark. “This all for you, Bulma. I would do anything for you. I won't let you go.”

The words were sincere and intended to be sweet, but all Bulma could taste was the beginnings of dread spawning on her tongue.

“Promise me that you will always protect me.”

Pulling her in for a kiss that would be felt and tasted for the rest of her years, Goku sealed his fate with an unspoken promise.

* * *

 

“Wake up, princess.”

Vegeta sputtered to life, awash in freezing liquid.

He blinked up at his assailants, noting the slit glares and smug reptilian smiles of the Ice-jin. With a growl, he lunged from his makeshift bed and grabbed the nearest guard, tumbling to the ground while tightening his stranglehold.

Furious, the prince watched as the life ebbed away from the creature beneath him as water ran down his angled face and onto the floor. He shivered from the contact, having not seen a bath or shower in quite sometime. In his hands, the guard struggled to stay lucid, and he frowned when the Ice-jin relaxed and his beady eyes fixed on the doorway.

Instantly, Vegeta released his prey and stood to address the true object of his rage who had taken residence near the door.

Frieza looked as spiteful as ever, his lips drawn up in a sickening smile. He sauntered further into the prince’s space, stopping only to scoff at the guard on the floor. “It has been awhile, Vegeta. How are you faring?”

“Fuck you,” the prince spat, cracking his knuckles despite his greatly reduced strength. He had quite enough time to silently seethe, locked away like an animal. The woman had stopped coming to him, Frieza never visited, and all Vegeta did was think, survive, sleep- in that order.

He could barely even piss anymore.

Frieza stifled a small laugh. “Harsh language is unbecoming of royalty,” he sneered, pacing around the cell in observation while the guards righted themselves in their lord’s presence.

“I am not royalty,” Vegeta shouted, fists clenched. He could feel the flesh of his palms give way to his overgrown nails as he tried hard to suppress his fury. He was not strong enough to kill the creature just yet, but it was getting harder to bide his time. “You took my birthright from me. My kingdom is dead.”

Ceasing his pacing, Frieza inclined his head toward the prince with narrowed eyes. “I have never heard you admit such a truth,” he observed. “Perhaps you are now ready for my test.”

Vegeta bellowed at the ridiculous statement. “There is no test, you sadistic bastard. I am no fool. Your intent is to kill me through torture or some other indirect method,” he declared confidently. “I tire of your games and deception. If you intend to kill me as you have the rest of my race, then complete your genocide, but do not be a coward about it.” There was no need to mention the Saiyan that he scented on the woman, but he desperately wanted to.

At the insult, the two guards promptly latched onto the prince’s biceps and attempted to shove Vegeta to the ground, but Frieza waved them off.

“Leave us and retrieve what I requested.”

After the two subordinates’ departure, the prince faced down his old master, summoning every ounce of defiance left in his body. Frieza stared back with curious eyes and a small smile playing on his lips.

“You are wondering why I chose you,” the creature mused. When Vegeta didn't respond, Frieza broke out into a grin and stared past the Saiyan as his eyes became glazed over in memory. “Do remember the day you were brought to my ship? It was the first time I truly saw you.

“You were so small for a Saiyan, but I could tell that your heart was larger than most. In your wide, brown eyes I saw something unprecedented. It wasn't feral or brutish like the rest of your people- but strong and proud. Even back then you knew what you were, who you were.”

Frieza paused to shake himself out of the past, resuming his unsettling pace around the small cell. “Later, I invited you to crawl into my lap and you did, so trusting despite your recent loss,” the creature recalled with mirth. “You shivered against me as we looked out over the graveyard of your people and even through your anguish I could still see your spirit glowing as strong as ever and as I stared down at you, I made up my mind. I was going to make you suffer for daring to defy me with that small shred of hope that your tiny little hands just could not seem to let go of. I was going to kill the very thing that made you special, the thing that drew me to you in the first place.”

Unmoved by the declaration, Vegeta grit his teeth. “Then do it. Take me, break me, but do it while looking into my eyes so that I may do what my father could not.”

The cell became silent as thick footsteps refused to fall. Frieza was facing away from the prince then, staring through the now darkened window. “I cannot, monkey,” he whispered to his opaque reflection. “Even now, I cannot destroy what I helped create.”

Furious, Vegeta unleashed a fury of curses, funneling the minute amount of ki in his abdomen into his hands. It wasn't enough to kill or maim, but he couldn't let this grievous insult go unpunished. “Fight me!”

Just as Frieza turned around, the prince made his move, intent on burying his fingers socket-deep in the creature’s devious eyes while energy surged through his fingertips. He managed to grab hold of his former master, but just as he pressed his fingers against Frieza’s fluttering white lids, a scream pierced the air and the hair on Vegeta’s body stood at attention.

Seconds later, the woman was thrown into the cell, bloodied, bruised, and in a shocking state of half-dress. She wore a look of contempt towards her captors but the two guards seemed pleased with themselves.

“As you requested, Lord Frieza.”

With a grin, Frieza spiked his ki and sent Vegeta flying through the air and into the wall with surprising force. The prince felt the air leave his body, momentarily rendering him lifeless before his body sucked in a shuddering breath.

When his vision stopped spinning, his eyes took in the sight of Frieza petting the woman’s head with soft, gentle strokes.

“Like you, I grew to admire her tenacity, but she too has proven troublesome,” the creature explained, glancing down at the woman beneath him. “I caught her sneaking into the private laboratory where she accidentally sprayed herself with the Saiyan musk I had kept for research purposes. When I confronted her, she lied. This one will do anything or say anything to avoid punishment.”

At his words, the woman grimaced, her lips curling up into a defiant snarl. Her blue eyes sought Vegeta out, wide in disbelief, and he felt his heart quit beating.

_"This one will do anything or say anything to avoid punishment.”_

The woman had lied to him. There was no other Saiyan, no fallen brother waiting for his prince to save him.

Raditz would never playfully insult him and Nappa would never give him that ridiculous moronic grin ever again.

He should've known that all she had wanted to do was save herself and that she would do it at any cost. All those “encounters” and strange feelings were nothing but crafted experiences designed to make him pliable to her cause. Fitting that such a manipulative bitch belonged to Frieza.

Vegeta now knew that he was truly alone in every sense of the word. With a heavy heart, he picked himself off the ground away and walked back towards the little corner he had claimed as his bed. He cracked his neck and rolled his corded shoulders before facing Frieza once more.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he sneered in distaste. “It is not my fault if you cannot keep your pets in line.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest, rising to her shaky feet, but Frieza was quick to respond. “You were right, Monkey. I brought you here to break you. I will not deny that. But I came to the realization that I need you just as you need me. This tenuous relationship between us is what keeps us alive. It is our lifeblood. So if you want a test, then you will receive a test.”

Narrowing his eyes, the prince inclined his head towards the woman. “And what of her? Is she to watch my efforts as some sort of penance?”

Frieza cocked his head, smiling, and the action reached his eyes, turning them into tiny dark slits. “I was going to kill her, but she is just like you- angry, calculating, prideful,” he explained, eyes roaming over the woman slowly. “I have grown to crave her intellect as I desire your defiance. She will need to be tested as well. Now, come.”

The guards near the door immediately unlocked the cell latch and Frieza pranced off, tail swaying with joy. The woman watched him leave before scrambling to her feet and following closely behind, hugging her thin arms around her body. Vegeta stood in the middle of the cell that had become his home, eyeing the door in suspicion.

Should he follow?

Surely now was the moment he would finally face death. The creature was never so forgiving. He had never admitted that he wanted to keep the prince around. Even when he promised the test for the Saiyan to prove his worth, Vegeta had known it was nothing but lip service designed to placate him.

Could it be that by surviving this long, he had indeed proved himself worthy and changed Frieza’s mind?

He had been under the creature’s care for so long- he had grew into puberty and finally into a man under his shadow. Could it be that Frieza, the cruelest warlord in the universe had grown attached to the small cub he had extorted from the king of all Saiyans?

After some careful thought, Vegeta reluctantly followed the group into the corridor, growing more anxious with every step away from his cell. In a way, he began to miss the consistency of that experience. He knew what to expect inside, but now he was blind and stripped of his faculties.

He was slowly withering away, hungry, dehydrated, and demoralized, but his spirit was still strong. Though the woman had lied to him, he took comfort in the fact that she had been using him to survive.

If the base instinct of survival still existed, then his world was not as skewed as he had thought.

They walked for awhile through small metal corridors that reeked of eroding metal and strong chemicals. Frieza didn't appear concerned that his captives would run- he and the two Ice-jin guards walked ahead of the prince and woman.

Vegeta watched the woman with new eyes, noting the way she observed every inch of the halls, every door and opening. She mumbled to herself and he began to wonder about her current state of sanity.

Frieza led them to an elevator and had to unlock the lift with several biological security measures before the door opened and guards rushed out with ki weapons to identify the visitors. Upon seeing the warlord, the group was cleared for entry and the trip down proved to be tedious.

“Bulma, this facility is known as The Void,” Frieza explained, craning his neck towards the woman. “It is a prison facility of my own design for any and all resistance to the Planet Trade Organization. I house the most violent offenders here and decide what is to become of them. Most are used as bodies to fill the ranks for less desirable missions, but the worst I save for quite a different use.” With the last words, the creature smirked.

When the elevator continued to descend, Vegeta knew exactly what their destination was and what his test would be.

“Your sending us to The Pit,” the prince observed dryly, glaring in the direction of his former master. “This is no test. This is certain death.”

Frieza scoffed at the notion and grinned, looking coyly over his shoulder. “It is only death for those who are not worthy.”

It was Vegeta’s turn to sneer and he did so with great bravado, amused at just how foolish he was to even hope that the creature would spare him due to sentimentality. He leveled a seething gaze toward the woman who looked confused and cleared his throat to get her attention. “She will not survive the trials,” he declared, staring right into her quivering blue eyes. For all the trouble she had caused him physically and emotionally, it was a fitting end.

Frieza let out a shrill laugh just as the elevator came to a halt, shifting its occupants inside. “It would be in your best interest for her to survive.”

Vegeta growled low in his chest and ripped his eyes away and towards the creature stepping into the prison facility. “Why would I give a fuck whether she lives or dies? What good is she to me?”

The guards stepped behind the captives and forced them out into the brightly lit circular arena, which was surrounded by hundreds of cells stacked from the ground floor and up several floors. Inside them, the prisoners jeered and shouted at the new arrivals, their voices creating a cacophony above the wicked face of Frieza.

The creature didn't respond, instead opening his hands in a wide gesture, splaying his slender fingers wide. “Welcome to The Pit, where the criminals of the PTO fight for their survival,” he announced. “The price of freedom is the blood of the fallen. Hundreds are brought here but only one can win the trials. Only one can slay his fellow prisoners and prove his worth. That is…. until now.”

Vegeta furrowed his brow and sucked in a breath, but before he could ask for clarification, his right hand was grabbed and forced into a single cuff. When the guards stepped away, the prince followed the metal on his wrist over to its twin which was connected to the woman.

“This year, there shall be two victors. You will fight together or you will die together,” Frieza crowed. “I am curious, can brain and brawn coexist? If either one of you should perish, do not expect the other to live much longer. Good luck.”

With a flick of the wrist, Frieza motioned for the newly-joined pair to be escorted away, and Vegeta was quick to turn around and face the creature down. This time he held no illusions about his situation. Should he win and survive, the next step was not to sit at Frieza’s right hand, but to avenge his people.

With a level gaze and stern voice, the prince made a promise to the creature that had taken everything from him. “When I kill you, I will make certain that every ounce of your blood flows through my fingers as you beg for mercy,” he stated with grave confidence. “You will know the true terror of the Saiyan race.”

Frieza smiled at the declaration then looked to the woman. “Any final sentiments for me, dear Bulma?”

She shook her head softly, eyes diverted to the ground. “No, Lord Frieza.”

Vegeta had to turn away out of disgust. The fact that he would have to keep such a weak bitch alive infuriated him beyond the limits of what he thought possible.

The guards roughly led them away, yanking at their cuffs and positioning ki guns at the back of their necks. The prisoners walked away from their tormentor, never looking back. They were led to their cell, a small iron room with a single bare bed, a basin full of water, and an empty bucket to relieve themselves in.

Once the duo was locked inside, the woman pulled their connected bodies up to the long rusted bars and wrapped a small hand around one.

Vegeta turned his back to her out of spite, but the words that met his ears gave him chills.

“You sick fucker,” she whispered heatedly into the air. “You will regret the day you met Bulma Briefs.”

Upon hearing the vitriolic statement, the prince glanced over to his new cellmate. She looked back at him with a haggard and beaten face crowned with a mass of knotted blue hair. Her suit was in shreds and her creamy flesh was marred from his former treatments as well as recent abuse. But despite all this, she gave him the most cunning grin he had ever seen grace a being’s face.

His eyes grew wide and swallowed hard, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat. “You wanted this to happen,” the prince declared incredulously.

She nodded slowly then looked out once more to the arena just past the bars. “You needed to fight and grow stronger. I also needed you alone. I didn't know this place existed, but I had a hunch,” she explained, her voice gaining a depth that had eluded him earlier. “And once he figures out I'm gone, he will come for me and we will have the best chance to get out of here.”

Vegeta knew he would regret paying her any mind but the way she spoke was mesmerizing. “Who will come for you?”

The woman grinned. “The other of your species. I wasn't lying, no matter how much Frieza wants you to believe that. He has no idea what you or Goku are capable of, but I do.”

Startled, the prince watched as she closed her eyes and titled her head as if fresh rain was alighting upon her skin. It was a look of contentment and momentous victory.

Aggravated, Vegeta tugged on their cuffed hands, earning the woman’s attention. “Woman, you are insane for playing his game,” he sneered, watching as his insult fell flat.

She looked back at him with large eyes whose blue swallowed him whole. “Then that makes us two of a kind then, doesn't it?” she mused dryly. “Two masochists, one goal.”

There was no arguing with her sentiment so Vegeta didn't bother trying. Instead he let her stare out into the prison while watching the glint in those eyes shine brighter than the largest star in the dying twilight on Vegeta-sei.

 


End file.
